Vignettes and Vinegar
by Nayuki-Bunny
Summary: short romantic drabbles for almost every pairing you can think of...want to give it a taste? Part 47: Nobody will deny that they shouldn't work.
1. Splitting the Seconds

**so here begins the first of a slew of drabbles for just about every het couple under the sun! the list is really quite long, so this project will take some time. I'm looking forward to hearing everyone's thoughts and opinions though!**

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SHIPPING: TRUSTSHIPPING (KAIBA X ISHIZU)

_TITLE: SPLITTING THE SECONDS_

_THEME/MUSIC: FEAR/PERFECT ENEMY- TATU_

_TAGLINE: SHE KNEW FEAR WHEN SHE SAW IT._

_WORDS: 309_

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She noticed he would always hold his head up high, shoulders tense and face an unreadable mask, whenever he was trying to hide something. He would continue on behind this rather transparent façade, tossing sharp glances with a sharp tongue to maintain the empty space around him. Nobody else had even attempted to peer closer; only one look was necessary for anyone who spoke out of turn, only a few words needed to silence many.

But one look and a few words weren't enough for her.

The first time he looked at her with arrogance and doubt, amused sarcasm on his lips. She could tell he was used to that being the end of it; his whole demeanor radiated confidence and egotism.

She couldn't resist proving him wrong.

After that, his expression changed somewhat: the arrogance and doubt shifting to grudging respect and a sneer in the slivers of ice he called eyes. She saw this as a challenge; he would eventually believe in her. And so she talked to him with her silent gaze, persisting through his ignorance, and climbed higher up the ladder he had created to reach him.

At first she told herself that she was only here for kin. She stopped lying after she realized she was trying too hard for that. Trying too hard to make him see her from underneath the mask that she was slowly crumbling in her fingers.

She only had to murmur something and he would falter for a moment, letting her words sink into him before turning away with a scowl. A split second later, he would crudely fix the crack in his mask, head up high, shoulders tense, and brush her off with a strange expression he thought she didn't notice.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he said.

She only smiled. She knew fear when she saw it.

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review?


	2. Next Time

_SHIPPING: REGALSHIPPING (ATEM X MAI)_

_TITLE: NEXT TIME_

_THEME/MUSIC: EGO/GOODNIGHT GRAVITY - FALLING UP_

_TAGLINE: SHE ALWAYS TOLD HIM THAT SHE WOULD BE WAITING._

_WORDS: 329_

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She always told him that she would be waiting. Waiting for next time. Because each time she would lose, no matter how valiantly she battled against him, no matter how much harder she tried. But she accepted defeat in the strangest way, or so he thought. She would push her long hair back and look at him, smiling, something resembling triumph glimmering in her eyes. The eyes that colored his own reflection.

_Next time!_

And he knew she would try again and again, but it puzzled him like the golden object that hung from his neck, whispering of ancient secrets and a forgotten past. What made her keep coming back?

It couldn't be the furtive looks she shot at him when she thought he was staring straight ahead, or the smile that she seemed to save only for him. She was beauty and fire and he was regal and water. And how could triumph result from failure?

He wondered this as the smoke cleared to reveal her standing in the same stance she always had whenever she lost. She pushed her long hair back and looked at him, eyes glimmering, and shouted it again. And he hid his confusion and smiled back.

He wondered if her ego was as intact as the grin on her face. He wondered, wishing wistfully, if the only reason she came back was maybe just to see him again. The glimmer in her eyes seemed to tell him so: that her ego was not something so easily crushed, that each loss was a triumph in its own way.

Was every smile a message, folded into a small square, and slipped to him in indecipherable writing? Was every word an illusion or truth? Did she keep coming back because she was sure she could win?

And what would she win?

He wondered this, watching her wave and turn her back to him yet again, deciding that he would be waiting for that next time's answer.

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yeah, I didn't like this one... I found it difficult to write these two together. advice?


	3. Unsaid

_SHIPPING: MISGUIDESHIPPING (DUKE X REBECCA)_

_TITLE: UNSAID_

_THEME/MUSIC: DENIAL/I WON'T SAY I'M IN LOVE- SUSAN EGAN_

_TAGLINE: BUT NO ONE WAS SAYING THAT._

_WORDS: 357_

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She adjusted the glasses on her nose, pushing them up further and trying desperately to look anywhere but his general direction. It was bad enough that it was just the two of them in his car, him driving and her seated next to him, raptly examining the pattern of her skirt instead of the sharp curves of his profile. Her fingers curled into fists.

It had been like this once before, him and her next to each other and the wind blowing her hair around her shoulders. But there had been dread and fear curling uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach as she urged him on faster to catch up to the others. Shortly after that, he had spotted a familiar face and one name had risen to her lips, violet eyes and hesitant smile, drowning out the rest of his words in a torrent of budding feelings and anger.

The memory made her smile faintly; she had been so obsessed with that someone else that she had rashly jumped out of the car and headfirst into danger, never noticing him call after her (or what he called her), her eyes sparking with hatred.

Her gaze lifted slightly, drifting toward the driver, but she lowered it just as quickly, cursing her ineptness at the situation. What was this? She could hardly look at him anymore for fear of her tongue getting tied or her cheeks coloring without reason. She huffed quietly in frustration. She would think that a certified genius would be better at such things.

_What things?_ she thought to herself indignantly. _There isn't anything going on here…_

She had read countless books on psychology and such, but none of them seemed to explain this… what? It had been so much more different before; the other had been her height and that had seemed to aid the actions and emotions that gushed out as eagerly as her words. But this was someone else, taller with dark hair continuously falling over angular jade eyes. Maybe this was the real thing, maybe this was-

But no one was saying that. So he kept driving and she stayed quiet.

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this one was a lot of fun to imagine XD

tell me what you think?


	4. Confessions of the Silent

_SHIPPING: DEVOTIONSHIPPING (JOEY X TEA)_

_TITLE: CONFESSIONS OF THE SILENT_

_THEME/MUSIC: SILENCE/WITH ME - SUM 41_

_TAGLINE: HE LIKED TO THINK SHE'D BELIEVE HIM._

_WORDS: 350_

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He liked to think that he would tell her someday. Walk right up to her and pull her shoulders toward him so they were eye to eye. Watch her reaction when she realized he wasn't laughing. Maybe she'd take him seriously then.

He had come quite close to telling her several times. But she would always tilt her head to the side slightly, large blue eyes questioning, as he began the sentence. And each and every time the words withered in his throat from that look and he would shove his hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. And she would ask him what was wrong and he would mutter excuses before stalking off, hoping she'd follow him.

Sometimes she did and sometimes she didn't, but every time she would manage to make him forget what he was going to say with her eyes.

He liked to think that she'd stop looking at him that way, as a friend and nothing more. He liked to think that she would glance at him with that same expression on her face when she looked at the other. The other one who was smaller, yet whom she had bigger feelings for. But he knew what was too much to ask for, so he backed away and watched her from a distance.

He wasn't stupid, you know. He could usually tell what people felt and what they didn't. And he certainly didn't have to tell himself twice what he already knew.

That when she kissed him on the cheek when he dropped her home, he would dream about her lips brushing against his. That when she fell asleep on his shoulder in the bus going to school, he would stare at the way gold strands meshed with chocolate.

That she called him one of her best friends. That whenever the words teetered on his tongue, she would ask him obliviously what he wanted to say.

He liked to think she'd believe him. But he knew otherwise and instead, he would laugh and push the hair out of his eyes, keeping his silence.

_It's nothing, honest._

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like, don't like, suggestions? review and tell me!


	5. Butterfly

_SHIPPING: VASESHIPPING (PHAROAH ATEM X MANA)_

_TITLE: BUTTERFLY_

_THEME/MUSIC: WINNER/BRIGHTLY WOUND - EISLEY_

_TAGLINE: SHE LIKED TO BE THE ONE TO GET THERE FIRST._

_WORDS: 455_

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She liked the way the word tumbled around her in mouth like a butterfly's erratic flight pattern. When she dragged out the syllables of it, she often ended up sucking in too much air and yawning. This made it seem as though she was bored with her lessons (which she usually was when she did this) and would earn her a reprimand or two and another assignment, much to her chagrin.

When she would duck out of the stuffy room later (assignments finished or not depending on the time), she would run as fast as her thin legs would carry her along the various courtyards and walkways to a small, secluded garden. Here, she would sit by the pond and wait, swinging her feet and humming.

She liked to be the one to get there first. When they were younger they made a race out of it, the garden their finish line. The idea of competition excited her, so she had easily agreed when he suggested it, looking forward to beating him. However, being slower and smaller, she had been at a disadvantage, and when she would stumble onto her destination he would already be there.

At first she would try harder, but after losing time after time her patience wore thin. One day his smug grin grew too much to bear and she ended up shrieking that he had cheated somehow. He didn't say anything as she threw a tantrum at this, his smile replaced by a guilty look. She went on for a minute or two before suddenly remembering who it was she was yelling at. Blushing embarrassedly, she had mumbled an apology and turned to leave.

The next day she trudged to the garden again, half hoping he would be there. When she saw his usual spot by the water lilies empty, her shoulders sagged and her eyes welled up with tears. He probably didn't want anything to do with her anymore; she had behaved too rudely.

But the next moment he crashed through the foliage, running up to her and gasping something about being held up. She only stared silently when he caught his breath and beamed at her, violet eyes gleaming, congratulating her victory. She missed his pleased expression when she buried her face into his shirt in relief and blubbered something about apologies and stupid games.

Dashing out of the room, she ran through the familiar surroundings, cool evening air rushing past her. She had long since stopped trying to be the winner; the only reason she came everyday without fail was- She slowed to a stop at the garden, scowling half-heartedly at him seated by the water lilies. The same butterfly bumped around in her stomach.

"You lose," he laughed.

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reviews are much appreciated!


	6. His and Her Circumstances

_SHIPPING: COBALTSHIPPING (SETO X KISARA)_

_TITLE: HIS AND HER CIRCUMSTANCES_

_THEME/MUSIC: OBLIVIOUS/I'VE SEEN YOU BEFORE - SCREAMING TREES_

_TAGLINE: HE DIDN'T LIKE TO WASTE TIME._

_WORDS: 352_

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The second hand ticked steadily, the subdued sound resonating throughout the room. Suppressing an exasperated sigh, he glanced at the clock again. He didn't like to waste time. It meant moments lost when something profitable could be accomplished instead. The last thing he would consider doing was wasting time; he did have a multimillion-dollar company on his hands.

Then why was he here?

A light cough reminded him and he shifted his gaze from the wall to the person seated in front of him.

The woman was small and slender, her eyes focused on a small pile of papers on his desk. She said nothing more but her cough had obviously been a discreet reminder that he had business to do.

Mentally rebuking himself for not paying attention, he extended a hand and picked up the papers. He could feel her watching him passively from her seat as he flipped through the documents, skimming the contents. Certificates, recommendations and a résumé: it was impressive to say the least, but he didn't let it show on his face.

"So what makes you think you're qualified for this job?"

Her expression showed that she had been expecting this question, and she started to say something about hard work and drive for perfection. Although he was watching her as she spoke, he found himself not really listening.

The large blue eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses and the long nose and high cheekbones suddenly seemed too familiar, but he was sure he hadn't seen them before. A memory flashed into his mind unbidden, a young girl in a faded dress running toward him across a desert. He shook his head slightly.

"Do I know you?"

He realized he had spoken aloud when she blinked in surprise, stopping midsentence. Cursing himself for being unprofessional, he was about to dismiss the subject when she slowly shook her head, looking away quickly and tucking a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. At least he was sure it was platinum blonde. The color really looked closer to white-

"So as I was saying," she starts.

"You're hired."

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yes I am aware that this is also a name of an anime... reviews make an author happy!


	7. Your Hand

_SHIPPING: SIBLINGSHIPPING (MOKUBA X SERENITY)_

_TITLE: YOUR HAND_

_THEME/MUSIC: LIAR/SELF-DECEPTION - LACUNA COIL_

_TAGLINE: SHE WANTED TO PULL HER HAND AWAY AND SLAP HIM._

_WORDS: 350_

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The rain slid down in slow rivulets, distorting the images flashing by quickly behind the glass. She barely noticed the hazy scenery, instead feeling the gentle rocking of her seat and the warm hand of the boy next to her. The noise from the train and its passengers' scattered whispers faded into the background with the music softly playing in her ears.

She wondered sometimes where that naïve little girl who was too trusting and not confident enough disappeared to. That girl who never would have toyed with someone else's feelings to win another's. She stole a look at him, a strange sensation twisting in her chest upon catching sight of him.

Despite not being that much younger than herself, he had retained that childish innocence everyone thought she still had too. The even bigger deception's result was contained in their clasped hands. She hadn't thought lying would be so easy; when she had realized who and what he was, it had seemed almost obvious what she could do to reach-

She wanted to pull her hand away and slap him. She wanted to scream at him for believing a sweet liar and not realizing her wandering eyes. She wanted to run far away from both of them. But she couldn't. She knew all too well how pained his eyes would look at her retreating back.

A low voice jostled her out of her thoughts and she turned her head slightly. He wasn't looking at her, his dark hair (not chocolate like his brother's, she thought with another guilty pang) shadowing his expression from view. The grip on her hand had tightened and he seemed to hesitate before repeating himself.

Her eyes widened at the mumbled words, breath catching silently in her throat. She looked away slowly and stared ahead at the doors, letting his words sink into her skin. Then she turned the volume up until the music drowned out the sound of her rapidly beating heart and said nothing, still grasping his hand.

_Are you really happy with me?_

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comments, compliments and suggestions are always welcome!


	8. First the Worst

**wow, I haven't updated this in a longggg time; but don't worry, that will change! btw, I did create the shipping name for this because I couldn't find an official one online.**

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SHIPPING: FLAIRSHIPPING (DUKE X VIVIAN)

_TITLE: FIRST THE WORST_

_THEME/MUSIC: LEFTOVERS/I DO NOT HOOK UP- KELLY CLARKSON_

_TAGLINE: AFTER ALL, COFFEE IS THE BEST ANTI-DEPRESSANT._

_WORDS: 404_

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It sucked to lose.

She bit down on the straw and gulped vigorously, ignoring the scalding sensation that seared her throat and choking back coughs. Maybe now she could effectively render her vocal cords useless; it probably would land her in a better situation than this one.

She grimaced at the tittering couples around her as she scanned the surrounding tables,. The expression contorted her almond-shaped eyes and long nose into a mask of distaste, her glossy lower lip protruding in a pout. Her gaze soon landed on a gangly, awkward boy with oily skin and oily hair alone at one of the tables. He grinned at her and she tossed jet-black hair with her manicured nails in an easily decipherable "you wish" response. She hadn't sunk that low yet.

Men. What bozos they were. They had no idea of the worth of things right in front of them- they just took them at face value (but what lovely face value she had). An extremely eligible and sexy woman such as herself was only justified at being indignant at the thought of rejection.

_Psh, _she thought to herself. _Something is obviously the matter with him for turning me down. It couldn't be because he thought I was gold-digging? Hmm… Well, no doubt he's straight, so the only plausible answer is that he's asexual. Of course. That's it._

But she was still miffed. To think she had lost him to nobody. If that hadn't been the case, she could've taken care of any competition...

The straw scraped the bottom of her empty cup and she blinked, surprised at how quickly she had finished. Maybe brooding increased the need for caffeine intake. Pushing her chair back, she walked back to the bored employee behind the counter and asked for another of the same. Leaning back against the wood with a "yes, I'm hot" demeanor, her eyes drifted to a now occupied table before widening in appreciation.

Long dark hair. Dreamy eyes. Dreamier body. Impeccable fashion sense. Constant sighing upon glancing at nearby girls. Alone and no coffee.

He was obviously on the rebound and she knew she was in the mood for leftovers.

"On second thought, make it two," she said quickly.

Thanking the man as he handed her the change, she inhaled deeply and made her way over to him, keeping a cool air and a sultry gait. After all, coffee is the best anti-depressant.

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well this one was fun :)


	9. She Who Burns Brighter

_SHIPPING: PINESHIPPING (VALON X TEA)_

_TITLE: SHE WHO BURNS BRIGHTER_

_THEME/MUSIC: DISCO/JUST DANCE- LADY GAGA_

_TAGLINE: HE FINDS HIMSELF MESMERIZED, UNABLE TO TEAR HIS EYES FROM THE SLIM, LITHE FORM._

_WORDS: 493_

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The wind stings and bites eagerly at his exposed skin, whipping his faded jacket around tensed arms. Still, he urges on the engine with a roar, a hand quickly sliding the visor of the helmet down over bright eyes. It's moments like this when he really feels alive, not numbed by social restraints and long-lost loves. But he tosses these heavy thoughts behind him to crash and burn on the road stretching further and further behind him. He's made it a point to forget everything else while speeding away from anything that matters.

He stops when he reaches the end of the empty highway, the lingering adrenaline still flushing his face and leaving him slightly breathless. Pulling off his helmet to free the thick hair underneath, he runs a hand through the unyielding bangs and slowly surveys the surroundings. He notes that the few stragglers casually smoking cigarettes or muttering quietly around him pay him no attention, too intent on their own affairs. The huddled frames cast long shadows from the brilliant lights illuminating flickering neon signs in the darkness. He can hear a steady beat and muffled chatter throbbing from a nearby building and his throat is suddenly parched.

The air inside is humid with the heat of bodies pressed close to one another; it pulsates and ripples with music and the rise and fall of twirling limbs. The shifting mass brushes against him as he makes his way over to the bar, as though trying to pull him in, but he shrugs off the temptation. A few minutes later, his head is buzzing pleasantly as the alcohol begins to take effect, dulling his senses. In his stupor, his gaze wanders to the dance floor dappled with spinning light from the overhead disco ball and alights on a girl in the very center.

He's sure he's never seen her before, but there's something familiar about the short hair and lidded blue eyes. As he stares, she twists and turns like an electric current, disappearing and reappearing from sight, hips and arms swaying without abandon. The light catches on her supple flesh, sparkling on her dark clothes and dark eyes as she dances with a grace and intensity outshining any other. He finds himself mesmerized, unable to tear his eyes from the slim, lithe form.

As her gaze suddenly meets his, his mind inexplicably pushes away brooding memories of long blonde hair and piercing eyes. She seems to study him for a moment before smiling slowly and turning away, a sultry invitation. A minute later he pushes his way into the crowd, ignoring the jostling limbs and irritated glances. As he makes his way over to her, her eyes glimmer over him in recognition. Wordlessly, he pulls her to him, winding his arms around her waist and inhaling the scent of her skin and warm breath.

"Dance with me," he murmurs huskily in her ear.

"Try to keep up," is her sly response.

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this was the longest one so far, but I loved imagining it as I wrote it XD this couple is growing on me... (btw, I did come up with the shipping name for this couple because I couldn't find any official one online)

**you can probably tell that this is slightly AU, but I hope you liked it anyway. please leave behind anything you'd like to say!**


	10. Taboo

_SHIPPING: XENOSHIPPING (ODION X ISHIZU)_

_TITLE: TABOO _

_THEME/MUSIC: BLINDNESS/INCEST- SODOM_

_TAGLINE: BUT IT IS STILL A SIN._

_WORDS: 445_

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Her words were soft and sweet as she whispered, her silhouette framed by pale moonlight and blurred by his bleary vision. He could make out her dark lashes fluttering as she blinked and found his gaze drawn to the large and innocent eyes. The pools of liquid cerulean watched him intently, her voice a gentle hum.

"Are you awake?"

He quietly answered and she flitted over, bare feet mutely echoing on the stone, to perch on the edge of his mattress. She leaned back slightly as it dipped from her weight and he caught her fleeting fragrance of sandalwood.

"What is it?" he asked in a low voice, sitting up.

She was completely still save for her hands twisting idly and the steady rise and fall of her chest. The silence stretched on and he was about to ask her again when she suddenly sat up straighter and turned to face him, dark tresses swishing around her shoulders. The question died on his tongue as she studied him agitatedly.

The dim light darkened the smooth contours of her cheeks and creased brow, highlighting the exposed skin of her neck and the thin fabric clinging to her supple curves. He dragged his eyes higher to her parted full lips then quickly cursed himself, averting his stare. She didn't seem to notice, tilting her head closer to meet his gaze.

"Odion," she breathed. "I had a troubling dream." Her fingers curled into fists on her knees. "Flames… ravaged everything and I lost… everyone dear to me. I could only stand and watch helplessly… you all burned to ashes before my eyes, and I- I just knew it was my fault-"

"Ishizu."

She quieted at his soothing tone, still trembled faintly. Her tremors let her hair fell over her face in a silky curtain, hiding her pained expression from view. He bit down on his lip and looked away, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from pulling her close and feeling her soft flesh under his fingertips, watching her eyes slip shut so they both could share this in the same vulnerable moment of blindness-

_You are not related by blood._

_But it is still a sin._

A muffled dry sob rippled the air and his heart froze. She stood, starting to leave, and he couldn't help but reach out for her. Ignoring the warning voices clamoring in his head, he grasped her slim hand and twined it with his, his free arm reaching to grasp her forearm. His last shred of rational conscience burst as she let him hold her, burying her face into his shoulder.

"I'll stay with you," he murmured into her hair.

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yeah this was weird to write, especially since I'm not a fan of incest... this takes place when Marik is relatively young, probably around when he just got his tattoos.

like it/not so much? do tell!


	11. Busted?

**not gonna lie, I despise this piece. the pairing had me totally stumped and by the time I had 75% of this written, I really didn't feel like using a different idea. (oh, and shipping name is original, couldn't find an official one again...)**

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SHIPPING: FAVORSHIPPING (YUGI X MAI)

_TITLE: BUSTED…? _

_THEME/MUSIC: PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT/ IT'S YOUR FAULT I'M CHEATING- BILLY WALKER_

_TAGLINE: DID SHE KNOW I WAS THERE ALL ALONG??_

_WORDS: 690_

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The metal was cold against her body, but Téa gritted her teeth and pressed it more firmly to the wall, trying to meld herself into it. Her eyes stayed trained on the dim light to her left, beyond the refrigerator shielding her from the occupied armchairs at the center of the room. She could feel the KC airship tilt slightly in a particularly turbulent wind and desperately gripped the appliance next to her to stop from skidding into view.

She had plenty of good reasons to be here in the middle of the night. One, because she had been thirsty and wanted to get a drink. Two, because the apprehension for the upcoming matches had kept her awake. Three, there was a conversation going on and there was currently no way she could avoid eavesdropping on it.

When she had come in, the lounge had been empty. Finding apple juice and pouring some hadn't been a problem, neither had been gulping it down and getting ready to leave to try and go back to sleep. However, two familiar voices had stopped her from exiting in plain sight. Upon recognizing the voices she had for some reason deemed it appropriate to duck into the narrow space between the refrigerator and wall. She had cursed herself for the stupid reaction, but stayed put, too embarrassed to reveal herself. Now, she didn't dare budge for fear of being discovered.

"Never?" someone questioned.

"Never," was the sheepish answer.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

The voices registered in her head as belonging to Mai and Yugi. Téa frowned.

_What are they talking about at such a late hour, and alone together?_ she wondered. She certainly didn't know, but now she felt very inclined to find out. Sidling as close as she dared, she strained to hear.

"You're kidding, right?" Mai was asking.

"No, not really…" Yugi mumbled.

"Now, now, no need to start getting all cute and blushing!"

"Er, what?!"

"At your age that's just shameful… hey, I'll help you!"

"What?!"

"I did it when I was half your age! You can't call yourself a real man until you've experienced it."

Téa was positively agape. _They couldn't be talking about- no, it can't be_. _Not possible._

"This really isn't necessary," said Yugi nervously.

"Of course it is!"

"Mai- ah! What're you doing?"

"Helping of course. This is a full body experience, so obviously close contact is crucial."

If Téa's teeth had clenched any harder they surely would've bitten her tongue off, but a scuffling noise and the rustling of fabric quickly interrupted her bewildered thoughts. Mai sighed in exasperation.

"Yugi, take that off."

_Ehhhh?? He's not taking anything off! Oooh, I think my brain just imploded…_

"W-why do I need to take it off?" came a muffled reply.

"Well how else are we going to do it?"

"I don't-"

"Is it because it's me?" Mai asked in an injured tone.

"Er, no," said Yugi, in the same stifled way. "Actually I'd think a lot of people would kill to be in this position…"

_But Yugi wouldn't! _thought Téa triumphantly, restraining herself from jumping out and dragging him away from any unwanted seductress charms.

"Then don't take it for granted! Practice makes perfect," Mai chirped, to Téa's chagrin, the scuffle continued.

"I can't, Mai!" Yugi squeaked. "No, don't take it off-!"

"What's going on here?!" Téa shrieked, bursting out of her hiding place, unable to contain herself.

If anything, Mai looked amused, as though she had been expecting Téa to come jumping out from behind a fridge. (_Did she known I was there all along??_) Both duelists were in their pajamas (fully clothed, she noted with relief), Mai grasping a sofa pillow positioned over Yugi's face. Slowly, he peeked out from behind it. Catching sight of Téa, he turned bright red and hid his face again completely behind the pillow. She could barely hear his moans of "thisissonothappeningrightnowit'sjustabaddream," suddenly aware of what was not actually going on. The awkward silence stretched on until Mai took it upon herself to fill it.

"It's just a simple kissing lesson," she said, grinning slyly. "Can you believe he's never done it before?"

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longest one yet. review if you please!


	12. We Make No Sense But We Like It That Way

_SHIPPING: PERSEVERESHIPPING (DUKE X TEA__)_

_TITLE: WE MAKE NO SENSE, BUT WE LIKE IT THAT WAY. _

_THEME/MUSIC: CIRCULAR LOGIC/ FLATHEAD- THE FRATELLIS_

_TAGLINE: MORE ALCOHOL WILL MAKE IT BETTER, HE THINKS._

_WORDS: 728_

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It's four in the morning. His head hurts likes hell and his whole body feels like a sack of lead. Especially his head. Mostly his head.

_More alcohol will make it better_, he thinks.

He doesn't want to fully wake up and get ready to go to work in a few hours. He'd like a caramel macchiato and some biscotti instead, please. And a permanent "DO NOT DISTURB!" sign on his front door. Then again that wouldn't pay the bills or the rent of his posh little condo. And his landlord would never let that slide, devilish charms or not. He'd very much like to go back to sleep but that isn't entirely possible; there are toenails pressed painfully into his back.

"Move," he mumbles into his mussed bedding, sure that someone has stuffed a cotton ball into his mouth.

"You're the one lying on the wrong side of the bed," the owner of the toenails sleepily replies.

"'S my bed," he says, slurring slightly. "And why aren't you gone yet?"

She pushes herself up slightly as though to leave, but just announces the time spelled out in neon green from his bedside. Satisfied at his nonexistent response, she collapses back into the sheets, tangling them further around her legs as she curls into a ball.

"By the way, your bed smells," she grimaces.

"That's 'cause you're getting all your perfume on it," comes his muffled voice. "I told you that scent line was no good. Now the whole place smells like cheap magazine samples."

"Then make yourself useful and clean up this mess."

"This mess" meaning of course the various empty bottles strewn on his floor and the takeout boxes tipped over on his coffee table and carpet. But that's just his room. He doesn't even want to think about the real earthquake beyond his safely closed bedroom door.

"…I'm not your maid," is his final answer.

She snorts like this is all very funny and well played. It is a loud sound and ensues a throbbing sensation in his temples similar to a very small migraine.

"It's your place," she points out.

"But it's your cheap perfume. Now lemme sleep."

"Duke-"

Annoyed that she is still talking, he shoves at her half-heartedly with his leg, but this is enough to send her flailing onto the ground with an indignant squeal, taking his only set of clean sheets with her. In more normal circumstances he wouldn't have even attempted such a feat. If he was completely sober, he would've taken immediate evasive action under his bed. But he isn't completely sober, so he fumbles for a pillow and buries his head under it. A minute later he lets out an undignified yelp as icy water is dumped from his favorite tea mug onto his bare torso. A chase around the room after his assailant and a weary collapse back onto the bed later, she lays next to him and they breathe in the stuffiness of his room.

"I've got to stop doing this," he says, gesturing vaguely.

"It's messing up your sleeping schedule," she agrees.

"Makes no sense."

"Like your need to throw random parties and get everyone drunk."

"Hey," he frowns. "If I don't throw parties that means you all don't get free alcohol and bedding for when you're too lazy to go home and bother someone else. Not to mention very effective alarm clocks."

"That isn't an advantage," she says pointedly. "And I'm not the one who can't hold my liquor. You always vomit in the sink. It's unhealthy."

"You're perfecting your household skills when you clean it up."

"And I know you like your butt forcefully dragged to work by one of us. It was Mai last time, right?"

"Circular logic," he grins.

"What?"

"Exactly."

"Don't go all babbly on me Mr. I-majored-in-Philosophy," she huffs, capitalizing the "P" for no good reason. "Now either go back to sleep or make us breakfast."

"I'm wasted. Why aren't you?"

She's quiet and thinks about it like it's significant, what she's about to say, and she finally mutters, "Because I have to keep an eye on you." Then she quickly adds, tugging on his ponytail, "And nobody else takes pity on you for this stuff. You should try cleaning house one day."

He gets what she really means and basks in his male pride.

"Duly noted."

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yeah, I don't really know. when pairings get crazy, I get crazy. ...but I liked this. pretty AU-ish again, but fun to read I hope.

these really need to start getting shorter...


	13. Paint Me In Your Eyes

_SHIPPING: ROSESHIPPING (PEGASUS X CECILIA)_

_TITLE: PAINT ME IN YOUR EYES_

_THEME/MUSIC: EUPHORIA/ __HIS LAST PAINTING- MANIC STREET PREACHERS _

_TAGLINE: SHE HADN'T REALIZED THE BREVITY OF THE REQUEST TO HIM._

_WORDS: 390_

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His father had never cared much for his paintings, calling them a waste of time and effort. They made no sense to him in his world of the strict reality in parties and carefully calculated numbers. He hadn't even bothered to understand how deeply his son felt when painting- as though he could pour a bit of his life into each pictures, in vibrant colors and varying shades.

She had understood as soon as she uncovered one of the watercolors hidden away in his room.

"It is a rare talent to perfectly capture someone or something in a single, still moment in time," she had said, beaming at his resulting blush. "It looks so lifelike."

"I only paint things as I see them," he had replied, carefully stowing the still-life portrait back into its protective covering and behind his bookshelf.

"Is that so?" she hummed, tracing the dusty fabric delicately before asking, almost shyly, "Then, if you don't mind that is, would you paint me?"

She hadn't realized the brevity of the request to him. Long after she departed that day, he spent hours sketching and erasing her likeness on what must've been hundreds of pieces of paper. Not a single one recreated her gentle beauty and intensity to his liking. The number of actual paintings he made all looked worthless; he began to fear that he could no longer paint at all.

Some weeks later she called on him again with the specific question of if he had finished or not. He tried to make a valid enough excuse to ward her off until he had drawn something passable, but she had made him open the door to his room. As she looked around at the floor littered with paintings, he lamely started to explain that he wasn't going to be able to render a decent enough image, but he soon realized she wasn't listening.

She had sank to the floor beside the largest of them and was running dainty fingertips over the smooth canvas and meticulous brushstrokes in an almost euphoric trance. As she turned to look up at him, surrounded by the numerous copies of herself, her eyes shone wonderingly.

"You make me look beautiful," she breathed.

He knelt beside her and took her hands into his own.

"I only paint things as I see them."

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awww. they were so sweet.

reviews are sweet too~


	14. Of Wasabi and Bus Rides

_SHIPPING: ARDENTSHIPPING (TRISTAN X SERENITY)_

_TITLE: OF WASABI AND BUS RIDES_

_THEME/MUSIC: FALLING ASLEEP/ I LOVE YOU- FAITH EVANS_

_TAGLINE: HE NEVER WENT FOOD SHOPPING UNLESS IT WAS IN A LIFE-DEATH SITUATION._

_WORDS: 680_

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He never went food shopping unless it was in a life-death situation. Meaning his mother was sick and his three little sisters were hungry and the fridge was empty. Because he almost never let himself get stuck in such fatal conditions, the place was almost foreign to him, the orderly aisles of canned goods and rows of produce too uniform for his own liking. It was always either too loud or too quiet. Completely full or deserted. Too chipper or too bored a cashier. All in all, the place freaked him out. He had long ago decided he liked looking at food more when it was on his plate ready to eat rather than still encased in its packaging. He thought the same thing now, almost dozing against the shelf full of canned condiments behind him as a female's saccharine voice chattered away beside him.

"So this wasabi is a bit more expensive than at the other supermarket, but that's further away. I'm not really feeling like commuting all the way there and they're both exactly the same brand, so should I wait for another day or just buy this one now?"

His head snapped up, sensing a question. "What?"

The girl sighed, brushing auburn bangs out of her face and looking up at him worriedly. "Are you alright, Tristan?" she asked. "Oh, I knew I shouldn't have asked you to come. You're probably bored out of your mind right now especially with me for company-"

"N-no! Not at all, Serenity!" he said quickly, mentally slapping himself. "I'm just a little out of it today."

Actually he was depressed; he had been hoping for a date when she had called him up. Instead, he had been asked to accompany her on a shopping expedition in Joey's place, her brother being sick with a head cold. He had agreed almost immediately and nearly flown to the Wheelers' house, gleefully exclaiming to his bedridden friend of their abrupt shift away from the friend zone.

"It's. Not. A. Date," Joey had snarled, shaking him firmly with each word. "If I hear that you've touched so much as one hair on my baby sister's head without me knowing, so help me-"

Luckily, Tristan didn't know what would happen to him, a violent sneeze cutting off the rest of Joey's words. Serenity had come in and whisked Tristan away a moment later, fluffing her brother's pillows and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek with a promise to be back in an hour. Still, Tristan didn't missed the warning death glare shot at him as Serenity had steered him to the front door.

"I guess I'll buy it," she now decided, stowing the wasabi away into the laden basket in Tristan's arms.

"Great," he said, glancing at the giant mounted wall clock. "Are we done?"

"Just about."

A few minutes later, her purchases were rung up and they had made their way to the bus stop nearby, white with snow. As soon as they boarded, plastic bags and all, he made sure to find them seats next to each other, taking extra care to minimize the distance between them. If Serenity noticed this, she didn't comment on it, instead engaging in idle talk with him.

Tristan sighed quietly. Even as they were conversing, it was taking all of his self control not to scream to rest of the passengers how desperately in love he was. He felt his heart sink lower in his chest as he watched Serenity obliviously go on about the price of lettuce. Did she really not know how he felt? Or was she ignoring it?

Blinking suddenly, he realized that Serenity had fallen silent. Turning to face her, he saw that her eyes were closed and her breathing even. He hadn't even noticed her falling asleep and cursed himself for being so boring. Then, Serenity shifted slightly and snuggled into him, a small smile creeping into her slack features. He froze, then carefully placed an arm around her shoulders. When she didn't stir, he grinned widely.

He loved grocery shopping.

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I always preferred this pairing to DukexSerenity because I thought Tristan liked her more (and that way I can have Duke for myself XD)

**I'd love to hear what you think!**


	15. Caged Bird

_SHIPPING: CONQUERSHIPPING (THIEF BAKURA X KISARA)_

_TITLE: CAGED BIRD_

_THEME/MUSIC: SHATTERED/ (I HATE) EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU- THREE DAYS GRACE_

_TAGLINE: HE HAD MET HER AT THE BEGINNING OF BEGINNINGS._

_WORDS: 739_

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He had met her at the beginning of beginnings.

He remembers that the night was humid with desert heat, darkened by the star-flecked sky's brooding clouds overhead. Kul Elna had long since burned to the ground, the only lingering remnants were the dusty ashes and faded screams of its former inhabitants, still fresh in his mind and his nightmares.

A new life after the one that had smoldered away into nothing had seemed inconceivable to him, but he had still scraped himself out from the deep wells of sorrow and forced himself to move on. His mindset was far more mature than someone else so young: no longer did he seek comfort from dear ones that no longer existed. Instead, he resolved to make himself unbreakable, someone that could serve his own needs without having to rely on any other. He came to loathe the weak who could not fend for themselves, and slowly, the innocent child within him withered away.

He had recently associated with a group of bandits, their reckless nature and wild abandon attracting him like a moth to a flame. They had initially pushed him around due to his age, but quickly discovered he had both the temper and venomous tongue of a cobra. On his first raid, he had displayed surprising agility and cleverness, causing his cohorts to hail him as a true thief and accept him fully into their profession. Each time they went robbing, he pushed himself to steal the most dangerous and priceless items he could find, secretly apathetic of putting his life repeatedly into jeopardy.

It had been during one of these moods of his, passionate with a lust to feel alive, that he had found her wide-eyed and huddled in a corner of some abandoned hut. The flames flickering from his torch tossed dancing shadows on the walls and sparks onto the dirt floor. Even in the dim light she shone with an unnatural radiance and purity that caught his eye almost instantly, making him step closer to examine her.

Large blue eyes stared fearfully into his crazed amethyst and he noted that she couldn't have been more than his age. Her white limbs glowed through the thin coat of dust and sand and were concealed by a scruffy dress that did little to hide her budding figure. The fire leapt higher from his hold and he saw with a sickening jolt that her hair was the same color as his own and many of the deceased from his village.

She had instinctively drawn herself further away from him as his gaze raked her body over but she uncurled herself slightly now, sensing him falter. He stood there staring dumbly, unsure of whether he should let her go or take her with him. He knew that as a slave she would fetch a handsome price for her fair skin and hair and he would earn a higher ranking in the bandit clan's hierarchy, but he saw himself reflected in the girl's face, frightened and shattered. A strangled yell from outside suddenly ripped through his thoughts and the girl stiffened again, but gasped, squinting at him.

"Your hair," she said, the gentle voice no more than a whisper. "Could it be you too-"

"Bakura!" someone yelled to him distantly. "Let's go!"

Shaken from his dilemma, his eyes narrowed and he strode decisively toward her. Seizing her by the arm, he roughly pulled her to her feet and threw the torch behind him. He ran, still holding her wrist, and ignored her feeble protests and pleas, leading her away from the blazing village and toward the clan's caravan.

"Why?" she murmured, eyes locking with his as he shoved her toward the others.

He looked away quickly, deaf to his companions' praise, for he had no answer.

In the moment that he saw her he hated her for her weakness and piety, for the memories she brought streaming back unbidden. But he had felt this fierce emotion of possessiveness too, a desire to brand her as his. He knew that only she could understand his pain and it both angered and pleased him. How could she undo him so completely?

When she was found missing from her prison later that night, the caged bird having flown free, he decided, fingers curling into fists, that he would find her someday, weeks or years later, and bring her back to ask her for himself.

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yeah the ending's a bit rushed, I know...

**I always thought it would be interesting if Bakura and Kisara knew each other. I know he's supposed to be the only survivor from Kul Elna, but still! it makes a good story... and notice how I tied her and Seto's first meeting with this? clever, no? XD**

**reviews make my day ^^**


	16. You Say Goodbye

_SHIPPING: AZURESHIPPING (KAIBA X TEA)_

_TITLE: YOU SAY GOODBYE…_

_THEME/MUSIC: MONOCHROME/ HELLO GOODBYE- THE BEATLES_

_TAGLINE: "YOU'RE GETTING SOAKED," SHE SAYS FINALLY._

_WORDS: 438_

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She likes watching the rain fall endlessly from gray clouds overhead, rippling and humming a muted rhythm as it connects with the earth. Even more than that, however, she likes dancing in it, feeling cool, affectionate kisses glide over her skin where her umbrella doesn't shade her. The clear water's erratic ballet seems to brighten the dull and dreary backdrop's subdued shades.

She glances over her shoulder quickly and, satisfied that there are no spectators, she steps out into the downpour with eager feet. They find a puddle quickly enough and she grins at her distorted reflection within it as she splashes from one to another, the grays and blues mixing with the brown of her shoes. She pirouettes elegantly on the blackened ground but then stumbles, face flushing vividly.

A tall, lean boy with an angular silhouette and a handsomely sculpted face watches her intently from a few feet away. He barely moves as she hurriedly slows to a stop, maintaining his blank expression as she bites down on her lip in embarrassment. He's standing casually in the rain, drenched without an umbrella and blinking passively as his wet hair drips onto his face. The uniform sticking to his toned figure belongs to her school's, but she doesn't remember seeing him before. As she racks her memory, a sudden flash of lightning sears the sky with white-hot light and gives him a strangely out-of-place look in the midst of so much color.

"You're getting soaked," she says finally.

"…so it would seem," is his monochrome reply.

She studies him for a moment longer, still unable to recognize him. He too seems to be examining her, and the silence stretches on as neither lowers their gaze. Then, decisively, she strides over to him and tilts her umbrella over both their heads. Glancing up into his face, she blushes faintly under his probing stare, forcing more words from out of her throat in a rational excuse.

"You could catch a cold."

Almost as soon as she says so, a sleek limousine pulls up to the school gates. Wordlessly, he ducks out from under the umbrella and pulls open the car door to slip in. She gets the sense that he's avoiding facing at her, but he pauses before shutting the door to give her one last look. Suddenly, the only thing she notices is how shockingly blue his eyes are in spite of his colorless disposition.

He opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and closes the door. She watches him speed away, a twisting, tumbling knot in the pit of her stomach quivering pleasantly.

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**if I don't ship this couple, why do I enjoy writing it so much?? those of you who have read my surprisingly popular Azureshipping fic "Anything but Ordinary" know what I mean... obviously meant to take place prior to the first episode. if you look at Téa's expression from that scene when Kaiba busts into the game shop the very first time, every single time she looks like "heyyyy, it's you..." **

**hope you liked, please review!**


	17. My Hands Reach For Yours And Touch Air

_SHIPPING: YUGI X SERENITY (TIMIDSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: MY HANDS REACH FOR YOURS AND TOUCH AIR _

_THEME/MUSIC: SKETCHING/ DRAW YOU- DANIEL BEDINGFIELD_

_TAGLINE: MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE SHE KNOWS IT TO BE THE MOST DOOMED ROMANCE THAT NEVER EXISTED._

_WORDS: 343_

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It's difficult to stay concentrated when they're sitting so close together. She glances up at him again and bites down on her tongue instantly, attempting to stem the intensity of her blush. He doesn't seem to notice, continuing to stare off into the distance. Her grip on the charcoal tightens and she lets the fringe of her bangs shade her eyes.

Then again, when had he ever noticed her furtive stares and chance brushes of their skin?

She drags the blunt tip back and forth over the paper. The black lines are even and bold, slowly capturing his large, innocent gaze and strong jaw line. She smudges faint shadows on his throat, letting her fingers linger longer than necessary.

When she's sketching, she tips herself over to spill the contents of her feelings. It's what all true artists do. She has sketchbooks filled with lifelike portraits as a result, each one a near snapshot of the model. She finds similarities between the herself and the person as she draws, binding them closer together with each careful stroke until a bit of herself is in the picture as well. But each time she tries to draw him, her emotions soak the paper and drench it with bland imitation and frustrated tears. The gap between the two of them is too wide to bridge- she dreams and he walks wide-awake. He moves forward as she stays rooted to the spot, watching him leave.

She knows that he is perfectly satisfied with what he has, but she is selfish. She wants it be just them, no one else. Not his long-gone other half, not the girl who loved them both, not even her own brother. Maybe it's because she wants too much that he'll never notice. Maybe it's because-

He shifts slightly in his seat and she starts back to the present. She murmurs an apology and quickens her pace, grip tense on her tool and eyes trained on the pad.

Maybe it's because she knows it to be the most doomed romance that never existed.

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writing evil Serenity is more fun than it should be o.O;;

of course this makes no sense, just like her personality in my Serenity x Mokuba shot made no sense. Serenity's the most innocent little girl ever, which is why I guess I love twisting her character into elaborate "what-if" scenarios... what if under that sweet facade she really just starved for the attention of her big brother's best friend?

review and tell me about what you think, I'd love to hear it :)


	18. A Study Session Not For Studying

**today marks the one year anniversary of this series of drabbles and it hasn't even reached 20 out of the 50 or so planned. sad, I know. well hopefully I won't have to take such a long hiatus this time around! this shot's my first one in this series to be written in first person, I hope you like!**_

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_SHIPPING: BAKURA X TEA (HOSTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: A STUDY SESSION NOT FOR STUDYING_

_THEME/MUSIC: ANOTHER WORLD/ CAN'T TELL YOU- DIAMOND RIO_

_TAGLINE: EGAD, I SOUND LIKE PERVERTED OLD MAN MUTOU._

_WORDS: 457_

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In another world, I wouldn't be worrying about when the right moment was to kiss her. Because I would've done it already. And it would have been smooth. Yes, very smooth. So smooth that she'd have no other rational thought than to beg for more.

Egad, I sound like perverted old man Mutou. Inward shudder. Besides, this wasn't that other world where I'm known for my extreme macho-ness, luck with ladies, and such. Instead, in this world I'm required to use my last resort and fail a maths test to get her to tutor me. This will look rather horrible on my grades. I'll have to get extra credit… oh, what a load of-

"Eh? Oh no, I'm fine! Yes really! Do carry on, I'm listening."

You ninny. Be assertive! How else do you expect her to fall madly in love with you? Er, well in all honesty, I shouldn't really be taking Joey and Tristan's advice quite so seriously. Considering their also lousy luck with the revered opposite gender, that is. Wait! Maybe they're trying to sabotage me! They are her very best friends… what if I didn't pass their you-are-allowed-to-date-Téa exams? And what was with that rumor of her being madly in love with Yugi? Maybe this is all a trap! Maybe she already knows why I'm really here and is practically laughing inside… Well, she doesn't look like she's laughing… she looks lovely, actually.

Sigh. Is it even possible for her to consider dating me? No! Rubbish, I say; keep your chin up! Of course she'd like to go out with you! She should be honored, on her knees pleading- no, that's terrible of me to say, I'm no egomaniac… besides, it's the other way around-

"Yes? Oh, um… 30. Because you have to switch the variables since it's substitution and the rest is simple long division… Thanks, you're a big help."

Except I knew all this already. How tedious are romantic endeavors… those creampuffs I laid out look good. Maybe I can feed her one, then she'll get cream on the side of her mouth and I can lick it off- gah! What sort of sick mind have I developed? Inner mental pacing fitfully. What am I going to do?

"Eh? Oh no, I really don't need to go to the bathroom. What? Er… I'm only squirming around because… you see… oh, dash it all! Téa what I've been meaning to tell you is… is…"

Why are her eyes so big and blue? She knows it, I'm sure! I can't do this! I won't! But I must! I… I…

"Creampuffs?" I squeak, shoving the plate at her face.

Damn it. Where's that other world? I need to bury a hole and die there.

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flustered Bakura is adorable XD


	19. Night Life of the Troubled Rockstar

**hey everyone, did you miss me?**

**school's started up again, so I won't be updating as fast as I usually do (hence the delay on this chappy), but I still hope all of you who do read these shots bear with me, because I'm not ditching this until it's over! hope you enjoy this one, it was a little funky to write... **

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SHIPPING: KAIBA X REBECCA (PRODIGYSHIPPING)

_TITLE: NIGHT LIFE OF THE TROUBLED ROCKSTAR_

_THEME/MUSIC: MIDNIGHT/DON'T TRUST ME- 3OH!3_

_TAGLINE: "YOU CAN TELL HIM THAT I'M A VEGETARIAN," HE INTONES DRYLY, CUTTING HER OFF_.

_WORDS: 675_

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He gulps down another burning mouthful of gin before signaling the bartender for another, ignoring the sickly saccharine voices cooing around him that he's had too much. His temples throb uncomfortably with the noise of the people, but he's grateful that the ear-splitting music, the screaming people, and waving cell phones are gone. And the papers and napkins and skin shoved at him to write his name on over and over again. In fact it's blissfully peaceful here in comparison- he takes it as a welcome change to his life: living on the high of yelling words and songs to people he doesn't know. People who adore him and write to him and cry when he brushes against them in the slightest of touches.

He tilts his head back and exhales loudly, letting out cigarette smoke and taking in the softly pulsing music and dimmed lights of the club. The chatter and sounds die down to a subdued hum in his brain and he tunes out the rest of the world for a few idyllic seconds. Then he sighs and stands from his seat, shrugging on his jacket and pointedly disregarding the immediate protests. He makes his way through the crowd of people he knows and doesn't know and they all hug him goodbye and ask him to call them. He nods dumbly, eager to step out alone.

The air is still outside and he stretches languorously before stalking off toward the parking lot. Flicking the hair out of his eyes as he approaches, he glances around for his car, but is started out of the quiet by a shrill shriek. Whirling around to face the sudden exclamation, he catches sight of a small figure standing directly under a nearby street lamp.

She's obviously drunk (he can tell by her hunched stance and dizzy swagger) but vigilant enough to recognize him. As she stands there, motionless, he thinks that she can't be more than twelve- she's so small that her shock of long, blonde hair makes her look even more petite. But before he can formulate an adequate response, she's run toward him with unnatural speed and grabbed fistfuls of his jacket.

"Wait!" she slurs, steadying herself. "I need… sign."

He can barely conceal the surprise on his face. From this closer look, the girl is obviously seventeen or so- he can tell from her aged features and what's underneath the shimmering dress slipping slightly down her front. But her eyes are bright despite the dulled expression as she teeters unsteadily on her wedges and, wordlessly, she lets go of him to press a crumpled paper into his hand. He glances at it uncertainly, unsure of whether or not he should let her out of his sight. It's a set-list with smudged lipstick on the letters printing his name.

"It speaks to me, your music," she breathes. "Right here." He looks up to see her hand flutter to rest on her chest. There's a faded "x" on it and shadowy bruises on her arms. He grits his teeth, a shiver unexplicably worming up his spine, and glances around. There's no one else in the parking lot.

"Thanks," he says finally, stepping away slowly.

"If you would sign that," she mumbles, following him, "I can die happily." Her voice lowers to a loud whisper. "But you can kiss me before that; I can tell you want to."

"What?" he asks incredulously, but she goes on as though she didn't hear him.

"I'll never leave you, you know. Not like your ex, the one you write all your songs for…" His expressions tightens. "I can be that new girl that changes you for the better. We can talk about it, about anything… and then maybe your songs can be about better things… But don't tell my boyfriend, he's got beef… very buff-"

"You can tell him that I'm a vegetarian," he intones dryly, cutting her off.

She hiccups in reply, blinking furiously so that her bright blue eyeshadow flickers in the dimmed light. They're both silent for a few moments, but then he turns on his heel, disappearing into the midnight dark with a muted curse. She watches him leave her there by the street lamp, the set list lying crumpled and forgotten on the concrete.

"You didn't sign!" she calls after him.

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yeah, I personally despise Rebecca. if you're a fan, then sorry, no offense to you intended. but please don't flame me and say how awesome she is or anything, I don't want a fight to ensue...

**so yeah, this was my first shot that I wrote with the song in mind before the theme. tell me what you think, I'd love to hear it! **


	20. Flitting, Fleeting

**hello hello, remember me? *runs away from angry mob* sorry this took so long to post, but I do have a three-day weekend, so I'll be posting things here and there, promise! anyway, hope you all enjoy this newest installment! (I've finally reached 20!!)**

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SHIPPING: MAHAD X MANA (APPRENTICESHIPPING)

_TITLE: FLITTING, FLEETING _

_THEME/MUSIC: INSPIRATION/ SONGBIRD- OASIS_

_TAGLINE: HE THINKS HE KNOWS HER BETTER THAN HE KNOWS HIMSELF. _

_WORDS: 496_

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He thinks he knows her better than he knows himself.

Right now, he knows she isn't paying attention from the way her eyes stare off into the distance without seeing. He can tell she's bored from the way she takes a strand of unruly hair and curls it around her finger absently. She wants to get up and run around- he knows from the restless rhythm she's tapping on the floor with her sandals. He sighs.

She reminds him of a songbird, all bright-eyed and saccharine chirps with energy bursting from the seams. If anyone tries to pin her down, she thrashes about until she can fly free again. He smiles slightly at the thought, then quickly rearranges his features into a sterner expression; he's teaching a girl, not a bird. But when he glances up at her again, he's not so sure.

She's small and slim, an awkward display of thin bones and large eyes that are constantly moving. Almost everything about her is fleeting: her attention, her moods, her train of conversation… and she was always trying to fly away. How did he put up with her again? He exhales before glancing back down toward the scroll unfurled on his lap, forcing himself to focus on the hieroglyphics.

"So what's the answer?" he asks.

She blinks almost sleepily before tilting her head toward him, a dreamy bird with a vivid plumage. "Hm?"

He sighs again, taking care to sound annoyed as he says, "The currents drift sideways so they redirect the force in proportion to the ka's strength and size. We went over this yesterday."

She lets out a sigh of her own before sitting up straighter in her seat and shaking the bangs out of her face. As she arches her back, her gaze locks with his. Without missing a beat, she makes a silly face, all signs of fatigue gone, so that he bites back his laughter with a silent reprimand.

"Can we take a break?" she wheedles. "We've been at this for hours!"

He frowns at her disapprovingly, then looks back down at the scroll. He really should say no; it hasn't even been one hour and she's not even paying attention. He opens his mouth to say so, but catches sight of her eager expression. Unbidden, words spring into his mind to teeter on his tongue.

_Songbird, spread your wings and fly toward the sun, carry with you your dreams and go where there is no one…_

He coughs, quickly ducking his head so that she doesn't see his face. "Alright, we'll take a quick break," he mutters.

Her face splits into a wide smile and she bounces upright before dashing away from the shade of the veranda into the sunlit garden outside. He watches her figure twist and turn in energetic leaps and pirouettes, blotting out the sunlight as she flits in front of it.

Making sure she isn't watching, he scribbles the line onto a scrap of papyrus.

**

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**

he's a poet and he didn't know it! (wow, that was lame...) reviews are always appreciated!


	21. Q and A

**hey, it's me! felt like uploading a new chappy for this, so I stopped my homework to do so... ahaha. but I'd like to dedicate this measly shot to my sister, dandelion-heart. ****it was her birthday yesterday (now she's legit!) and I will write something full-fledgedly amazing for her, but until then, she'll have to settle for this :D**

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_SHIPPING: JOEY X SERENITY (RELYSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: Q AND A_

_THEME/MUSIC: PARAPHERNALIA/ ABOUT A GIRL- THE ACADEMY IS…_

_TAGLINE: HE LIVES IN BITS AND PIECES THAT HE LIKES TO SCATTER AROUND._

_WORDS: 310_

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He lives in bits and pieces that he likes to scatter around. Scraps of paper scribbled with his stray thoughts and wishes, but mostly questions. He leaves them lying around his house, like little reminders, under his pillow and in empty coffee cups. It makes him feel like he's spreading himself farther, farther so that if he's gone, they'll still be there- those scraps of paper with his stray thoughts and wishes and questions. Residues of a human.

He knows it's silly, but he does it all the same. He'll write innocent questions and nothings on napkins and leave them lying around the park and in diners. Sometimes he goes back to see if there's a reply, but there almost never is. The only one he'd found was a single word written under his messy handwriting.

Why can't we control who we love?

Because.

She asks him why he does it, when she comes over and pulls out another folded note from under his sofa cushion. _Paraphernalia_, she calls it, a teasing smile at the corners of her lips. _Why would you want to stretch yourself thin for people you don't know?_

He drinks her in, the soft eyes and hair and hands, and swallows thickly, thinking over his answer. So you can find me wherever you go, he wants to say. But he says, lamely, instead, _Sometimes I feel like I'm running in place_.

_You're no hamster, _she replies, and he half-grins. _What's the real reason?_

He shades his gaze from hers and doesn't respond, even when she pokes at him playfully. Instead, he grabs at her wrists and tickles her until she's collapsed on top of him, breathless and flushed, and he just holds her to him, breathing her in and feeling his heart thud against hers.

[He wants an answer as to why he has to feel]

* * *

**wow, it's short! so yeah, I know this was weird (sorry for the crappy dedication!), but I'm always confused when it comes to writing incest... it's just so awkward... and I still have one more incest pairing to write for this collection.**

**anyways, tell me what you think, I'd love to hear it!**


	22. And There is Something Wrong

**this is my second time writing the shot with the song in mind first. as a result, this piece has heavy references to the song, which is my new audio crack, btw. listen to it if you really want to know what I mean. **

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SHIPPING: KAIBA X SERENITY (SILENTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: I'M IN A ROOM, AND THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG. _

_THEME/MUSIC: SILK/ THIS EMPTY LOVE- INNER PARTY SYSTEM _

_TAGLINE: WHAT'S THE TIME?_

_WORDS: 409_

_

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What's the time? _

It's dark when he comes to and he inhales sharply, eyes fluttering half-open. The air is stuffy here so that he breathes in deeply from his mouth, taking in thinning smoke and his own alcohol-tinged breath. He coughs once.

Vaguely, he notices yellow lights from the open window to his left; they flicker with a dim buzz to throw dancing shadows onto the opposite wall. He watches them contort wildly as the sleepy disorientation slowly uncurls from his subconscious, unfogging his eyes and mind and loosening his tongue. He stares blankly at the wall, then coughs again. His mouth is dry and his throat is raw, and as he blinks heavily, he realizes that these are silk sheets against his back.

_What's the time? _

She shifts next to him, rippling the still silence and snaking small hands to wind around his bare torso, tangling her smooth legs with his. His skin tingles as she leans in even closer to blow hot breath over his ear, but he doesn't respond. Sensing his disinterest, her touch travels higher to brush at his face and lips. He has the urge to push her away, but his limbs are lead and his thoughts are hazy. He tries to remember when and how he came back here, but his thoughts slip away as she murmurs his name, drawing out the syllables. Dizzily, he notes that she's straddled his waist and pressed her open mouth to his, her fingers trailing burning fire down lower, lower, lower… His hands thread through the long, auburn hair to crush her closer.

_What's the time? _

His eyes snap open. Pushing her off and ignoring her gasp of protest, he fumbles for the watch lying on the bedside table, tipping over the small bowl of white powder next to it. His head and vision swim at the sudden movements, but he forces himself up, cursing.

"Don't," she breathes, her husky voice slipping out through parted lips to slither up his spine and into his ears. "Don't leave…" He says nothing, shrugging his clothes back on as quickly as he can. "If you go back," she says tightly, "back to her… I'll- this'll be the last time. I mean it this time!"

He stops, halfway out the door, and looks back at her. She bites on her lip but unclenches her fists, dropping her desperate gaze. He smirks. "No, you don't," he says, before pulling the door closed.

**

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**if you're wondering why I chose this couple for this song... well none of the other couples on my list really worked, so... and I guess this is another example of how much I like warping Serenity's character o.O;  
**

**review?**


	23. Nightmares

**notes from the author: 1) thank you to Arien Elensar for providing the correct shipping name, 2) I don't like this shot because I don't like this pairing...**

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SHIPPING: YAMI MARIK X MAI (ILLUSIONSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: NIGHTMARES_

_THEME/MUSIC: __HANDS ON THE CLOCK__/ POINTS OF AUTHORITY- LINKIN PARK _

_TAGLINE: I'VE DIED, SHE REMEMBERS THINKING._

_WORDS: 477_

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First, when she resurfaced, there was nothing at all. No sound, no light, no feeling; only an endless, colorless void that engulfed her whole. There was no end and no beginning, no memory but no lapse in recollection, and no voice in her throat. She felt light like air, as though her limbs had freed themselves from petty restraints like gravity so that she could float about.

_I've died, _she remembers thinking. _I've died and now there's no one else…_

And then she sank into unconsciousness.

**

The second time (moments, or hours later? she didn't know…), there was warm sand and glass walls. This time she didn't feel any numbing sensation of nothingness. This time she felt fear, clawing savagely at her and pulling the sloped walls in closer to slowly suffocate her. She remembers screaming and thrashing around helplessly, spitting and choking on the grains of sand that wormed into her open eyes and ears and mouth.

She remembers him laughing.

**

The third time, he's sitting next to her, watching her from the outside. She could barely focus on his blurred image, lifting a leaden hand with splayed, trembling fingers out toward him in some gesture of a plea. He had stared, some semblance of fascination mixed with satisfaction contorting his face into a frightening mask so that her eyes clenched shut and her voice died away.

She felt absolutely alone and wept, absolutely alone (for hours and hours and hours).

**

The fourth time, she's hung on the wall like a limp doll, arms and legs stretched like hands on a clock, ticking quietly away the time to count the seconds stretching to days and years. How long had she been here? How long would she stay? Who did all these voices, hushed and invisible and whispered to resonate around her, belong to? All she knew was that each time she opened her eyes, she was here and there were more gaps in her memory than the last time she was awake.

**

"Are we broken so easily?"

It takes her a moment to recognize him, but when she does, she scowls. "Never."

"Hm. We'll have to fix that."

**

She doesn't like thinking about the fifth time. Or the sixth. Or the seventh. Or however many afterwards there were. As he emptied her mind further and further, she'd be pulled deeper and deeper under his ever-growing pile of sand, or grow weaker and weaker in the iron grip pinning her against the wall. And he'd trace searing patterns over her skin and murmur things in her ears so that she'd wish she could let all the churning disgust and want spill out over her lips and away, away, away…

**

Each time she wakes up, alone in her room, she cries heaving, shuddering sobs because she knows that she'll never be able to get rid of the nightmares.

**

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if the Shadow Realm is supposed to be this place of horrors, I'm sure Marik did more than just keep Mai in an hourglass (not that that isn't terrifying...).**

**if you review, I'll love you.  
**


	24. Indifferent Desperation

**this piece, for me, was an interesting experience to write. I definitely could've expanded it so it'd sound better, but this is supposed to be a drabble, so...** **oh, and shipping name is unofficial again.**

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SHIPPING: TRISTAN X MAI (SECONDSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: INDIFFERENT DESPERATION_

_THEME/MUSIC: TELEPHONE/ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME- P!NK_

_TAGLINE: "NO," SHE SAYS, AND SHE HANGS UP._

_WORDS: 609_

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The first time she meets him, she thinks he's a bit strange. She doesn't let it show though, and lets him ramble on about how it was a total accident, that he's positive that sticking it into the wash will get rid of that spilled soda in no time at all, or he'll buy her a new shirt. She doesn't tell him that she's more upset that her sushi's ruined, and icily watches him repeatedly attempt to paper-towel her off before shrinking away without managing to make contact. She's aware that she's scowling unnecessarily (the sushi is only a few dollars), and she'll think later that that was why he insisted on some form of repayment. He looks completely taken aback when she proposes a movie the next day, eager to stifle his incessant babbling of an apology. She does not think he's that cute, and she is not pleased to be staring at a post-it note scrawled with his number. She does think he probably orchestrated the whole thing just to try to score with her.

She goes anyway.

She thinks the movie is uneventful, but he clumsily spills popcorn every time he gets excited. She considers walking out on him, but keeps her tongue in check, spending most of the time scanning the dark theater for particularly attractive guys. They grab a coffee later, and he wants to discuss the film, so she gives minimal input until he realizes she doesn't want to talk. When he finally says goodbye, she thinks that the whole thing was boring.

-

He calls her one day, a week or two afterwards so that she has to jog her memory to remember who he is. "Um, would you like to go to a movie again?" he asks.

"No," she says, and she hangs up.

She calls him back after five minutes and says fine. Only because she feels guilty.

During the movie, he spills popcorn and she sneaks out to the bathroom and spends fifteen minutes flirting with some guy she doesn't know or care to know. When she comes back, he glances at her with a grin and passes the popcorn. He's nice, I guess, she thinks. Nice, but weird.

"I had a good time," he says when it's over.

She crosses her arms and looks bored. "Mhm."

"See ya."

"Mhm."

She feels guilty.

-

It's a Saturday when he calls her again.

"How many times are you going to call me?" she asks in annoyance, pushing her hair out of her eyes and turning down the TV's volume.

"Until you take me seriously," he says.

"What the hell does that mean?" she snaps. "You're annoying."

Then she hangs up. A minute later, her phone rings again.

"…so, are you coming?"

She grits her teeth and curses herself for taking pity on him. "This is the last time."

They go to a café this time and he talks. He talks about everything. He's lonely, he says. He doesn't know anyone here. His girlfriend left him. He needs to be distracted or he'll be swallowed up by the memories. Each time he opens his mouth, she shuts her eyes and swallows, listening to him tell her all there is to him.

Why are you telling this to me? How did you find me? she wants to ask. How did you know I know heartbreak, how it is to be alone, how it feels…

She stands up, scraping the chair back, and starts to walk away.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

She turns back and looks at him impassively. "We're going to a movie," she says. "I'm bored listening to you."

**

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I don't really know what to think of this piece, actually... would you like to let me know what you think?**


	25. Pent up? Write it out!

**wow… third Mai shot in a row! next one I'll bring in a new girl, promise!**

**well I really wanted to write to this song and I was dreading this couple, so I hope it turned out alright...  
**

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SHIPPING: KAIBA X MAI (ARROGANTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: PENT-UP? WRITE IT OUT!_

_THEME/MUSIC: ELECTRICITY/ BULLETPROOF- LA ROUX _

_TAGLINE: "THIS SOUNDS AWFULLY FAMILIAR." _

_WORDS: 389_

_

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She likes to dominate a room when she comes in- make an entrance. She's found that she can do so even when slipping in subtly, watching her presence ripple through the people nearby and turn heads as she glides past. The dulled buzz of conversation spikes with whispers and stares, but she'll walk on, unfazed by the jaded glitter and shine around her. _

_Her presence spreads before catching hold. His is detected even before he's set foot into the room. _

_The air gets still and the crowd hushes, shifting in anticipation. He'll stride in and pretend he doesn't notice, stalking through the wavering unease and awe with his clipped voice and icy eyes. She'll narrow her eyes and keep talking like nothing happened, all too eager to ignore his standoffish behavior. Both of them will wait until the last possible second to acknowledge each other._

_But it's too hard for her to deny. The sizzling electricity passed between their fingertips and locked in their gazes. The desire to bait and pull him out of his shell to banter in bright eyes and poisonous words. He's vain and vicious, self-centered and snide, arrogant and acidic. He shatters her to ruins and she builds herself up again, waiting for him to knock her down once more. _

"This sounds awfully familiar."

Mai glanced up in time to see Téa's penetrating gaze lift from the papers she had been reading. Frowning, Mai looked away quickly, idly twisting the straw in her cooling coffee. "To what?" she asked, keeping her tone blasé.

Téa arched an eyebrow. "To what? That guy you've been ranting about since forever. The one who sits next to you in your globalization class."

Mai bristled indignantly, resisting the urge to sit on her hands to stop their sudden fidgetiness. "That jerk? I don't talk about him all the time!"

"You've only been complaining about him nonstop since you started that class this semester," said Téa wryly. "He's even made his way into your creative writing assignments."

"Have I really been- no! It's not- he's- it's not!" Mai sputtered, biting down on her tongue in an attempt to stem her rapidly spreading blush.

"Mhmmm," Téa hummed, drawling out the syllable as she dropped her gaze back to the papers. "If you say so. Props for the alliteration pairs, by the way."

**

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like? dislike? it makes my day to hear what you think!**


	26. War and Peace to all Men

**a bit late for this setting, but still ok! **

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_

_SHIPPING: TRISTAN X TEA (SUPPORTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: WAR __AND__ PEACE TO __ALL__ MEN_

_THEME/MUSIC: PAPER CUT/ NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN- MELANIE C_

_TAGLINE: INSERT EXPLETIVE HERE. _

_WORDS: 716_

* * *

His mom had told him that in times like these, it was best to focus on breathing. It would calm you down in no time.

_Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Now switch to minor hyperventilation._

Lies.

Swallowing thickly, Tristan glanced around him slowly, taking care not to make any sudden movements. But the walls were still closing in and the tinny, grating noise in the background had risen to a strident shriek. It was too bright, too cold, there were too many faces and not enough air- He searched for an opening of any sort to take evasive action into it and out of here.

"Tristan!" snapped a voice at his ear. "We're on a mission here! Don't you bail on me now."

He turned dizzily to see a blurry face on his right. "I can't do this," he wheezed. As he blinked furiously, the face sharpened into a girl's, her large blue eyes and small mouth narrowed into a scowl. His rational brain told him it was Téa. His savior in this war zone. His deliverer, angel-

"Come on," she barked. "Back into the fray! These Christmas presents aren't going to buy themselves!"

Insert expletive here.

"But I don't _want _to. Christmas is still in a couple weeks, I can wait-" Tristan hurriedly gulped his words back down at Téa's seething expression.

"You are not buying me tie-dye socks on Christmas Eve again," she hissed. "Plus if the crowd's this bad right now, imagine how it'll be on Christmas Eve! Let's. Go."

That in itself was reason enough to try to calm himself down, avoid looking at all the glitzy lights and colors, and ignore "Jingle Bells" being played on repeat from every speaker within earshot. Taking his silence as submission, Téa seized Tristan's wrist, plowing her way through the various shoppers and into a nearby store.

"Wrapping paper?" Tristan frowned, glancing around. "Shouldn't we buy the presents first?"

Téa sighed, rubbing at her temples. "Tristan. All the good wrapping paper is still intact at this point in time! See how this roll is pretty and not generic? Notice how the quality of the paper is thicker and better than this cheap one?"

"…they look the same."

He really should've kept his mouth shut, because that comment led to a five minute lecture on Wrapping Paper 101. When Téa had finished, he'd grabbed the roll she had been ranting about, only to have her continue her tirade on how he should never use just one roll of one paper. It was a good twenty minutes later before he had picked two rolls of Téa-approved paper and leaned against the wall to watch her choose.

Téa had always had a habit of pursing her lips when in thought, and she was doing so now, brushing away the stray strands of hair falling lightly onto her flushed cheek. She was always so serious about everything, but then again she had more ambition then any one of the gang. Tristan grinned to himself, realizing that he wouldn't have it any other way- he'd come to rely on that. Téa was a good friend. A pretty good friend. A pretty friend. Wearing lip gloss- Blushing, Tristan quickly averted his stare only to catch sight of Téa's legs.

…_damn dancer legs._

She had insisted on keeping her skirt and tights, even though the temperature was below freezing. "But don't I look cute?" she'd pouted when he'd protested. Obviously, there was no more argument after that, and he certainly wasn't going to argue about it now…

"Tristan? Are you ok? You look feverish." The next thing he knew, Téa was close (way too close!) and lifting her hand to his forehead, frowning concernedly. Tristan was frozen; he could smell her perfume, brush away the bangs from her eyes if he wanted to, and if he just leaned in- "What are you- ouch!" she yelped suddenly, pulling away to his chagrin. "Your wrapping paper gave me a paper cut…"

"Let'sgobuystuffnowcomeonI'lltakethat!" Grabbing her wrapping paper, Tristan hurried over to the cashier, fully aware his face was a burning red.

"Your girlfriend?" she beamed, nodding in a bewildered Téa's direction as he slammed down their selections.

"Er, no! Just a friend. Whose a girl. And a friend," he sputtered. "And a girl."

Insert expletive here.

**

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**why do all my Tristan fics come out one-sided...? I liked this one but then messed it up by rushing the end D:**

**thoughts?**


	27. Meet and Greet

**hey, hey, hey! look who it is! :D**

**so I'm taking time to update some of my multi-chap ficcys; since this is the most fun one I write, expect a slew to come along! I'd been really uninspired as of late, but I forced this one out. luckily, about halfway through, I picked up some inspiration and had a lot of fun, so I hope this turned out ok... enjoy!**

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SHIPPING: ATEM X TEA (REVOLUTIONSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: MEET AND GREET_

_THEME/MUSIC: ARRANGED/ LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT- KYLIE MINOGUE_

_TAGLINE: HE STILL WASN'T SO SURE HOW HE'D GOTTEN INTO THIS MESS._

_WORDS: 485_

* * *

He still wasn't so sure how he'd gotten into this mess. Briefly, his eyes threatened to stray upward, but he forcefully repressed the urge. He would think that out of all the schooling he was being put through, there would've been time to instruct him in something resembling this. No amount of astronomy, mathematics, politics, logic, battle strategies, or alchemy would be enough to instruct him in the proper… etiquette for this. Again his gaze wavered, and he scowled, focusing his attention instead on his sandals on the terrazzo.

He most definitely hadn't been expecting this, but then again, he should've suspected something when the normally stoic Mahad could barely conceal his mirth during the past week. "What?" he had insisted one lesson, nudging at Mahad's shoulder. The chuckles had subsided immediately.

"Nothing," Mahad said, clearing his throat. "Now. Alchemy. Define the principle of 'equal exchange.'"

"Mahad," he cajoled, setting down his scroll. "Why won't you tell me?"

There was a brief pause, and then Mahad had burst into unbridled laughter. His scowl deepened at the memory. If he had had even a day's worth of preparation, he could've tracked down Mana and asked for advice (although he wasn't so sure if she would be the best source of guidance in this matter…). The sudden sound of silk rustling caught his attention, and he looked up before he could stop himself.

"Um, is this whole thing supposed to be a quiet affair? I was under the impression we would be talking…"

As badly as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from the speaker. "I… er, I don't… um-"

It was a girl. A real girl. Not one with a dirt-streaked face and tangled hair, but with pale skinned arms extending from an elegant white dress and a soft voice. This was the last thing he had seen coming when he'd been shoved rather ungracefully into the room by Mahad: this girl sitting quietly, head bowed demurely, waiting for him.

As if she could read his thoughts, he saw her chin lift slightly. The gauzy veil draped over her head tilted so that one brilliantly blue eye peered hesitantly at him. Just as quickly, it widened and dropped to look at the floor. Her hands fisted into her skirts. Unsure what to make of this reaction, he shifted uneasily.

"I'm Atem," he said finally, in what he hoped was an assertive tone. "I'm not really sure how this thing is supposed to go… I mean, I didn't even know it was arranged… I thought I'd be-"

"Anzu," she murmured shyly. "I'm Anzu." As she lifted her head to meet his gaze again, her veil slipped back to settle over her shoulders, exposing dark hair and a pretty, flushed face.

He had lived in the desert all his life, but this was the first time he felt such a heat rush to his cheeks.

**

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I actually really don't like this couple at all... could you tell? I hope not, because I want to be as unbiased as possible in writing these (except the ones concerning Rebecca, haha). so yeah, I decided to use Téa's Japanese name here to distinguish the time periods. and did anyone pick up on the FMA reference? XD  
**

**like, don't like? leave me a review and tell me!  
**


	28. Shut Up and Duel

**I really, really, really, really don't like this piece. at all. I didn't really know what to do with this pairing, so I got... this. well, I kinda gave up at the end, as I'm sure you'll be able to tell, so bear with me...**

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SHIPPING: SETO X VIVIAN (CHASESHIPPING)_

_TITLE: SHUT UP AND DUEL_

_THEME/MUSIC: STALKED/ YOUR LOVE IS MY DRUG- KE$HA_

_TAGLINE: SOMETHING AKIN TO HORROR HAD SLITHERED UP HIS SPINE. _

_WORDS: 650_

* * *

Seto Kaiba was many things. Successful CEO of Kaiba Corp, world-renowned duelist, respected, genius, desirable. He was all this at the ripe age of eighteen, and now, at twenty-one, he had managed to add one more facet to his vast repertoire of traits: _stalked_.

It was ridiculous, really. He knew that he was attractive- one would surmise so after such repeated exposure to swooning women and love confessions. He also knew that the amount of fan mail he received each day (from men and women alike), despite the common knowledge that he had them all recycled, probably amounted to a small forest. And nobody had to tell him he was one of the most powerful men in the world; he had ensured that himself.

What Kaiba had not foreseen was the sudden surge in the hordes of women flinging themselves at him. "It's because you've just turned twenty-one," Mokuba had informed him nonchalantly. "You can get legally drunk now." Something akin to horror had slithered up his spine.

Now, he gritted his teeth, glancing around the Kaiba Corp employee parking lot. He had already had the security cameras checked twice before entering, but it was never enough to fully unravel his uneasiness. Maintaining a brisk pace, Kaiba strode purposefully toward his sleek car and started it, keeping his movements controlled. Moments later, he was driving smoothly on the highway, the tension in his shoulders gone. Maybe the sudden spike in interest had finally subsided. Maybe they had realized their efforts were in vain-

Something cold pressed into his shoulder blade and Kaiba felt his breath hitch. Or, maybe not.

"Keep driving," a voice hissed in his ear. "I'll tell you where to go."

By the time the speaker had finished talking, Kaiba had deduced that it was a woman, definitely foreign judging by her slight accent, and probably around his age. Whether or not she was holding some weapon against him was debatable, but Kaiba wasn't going to take his chances in such a situation. He glanced at his rearview mirror, but only caught sight of jet-black hair.

_Looks like I'll have to check the backseats of my car now. And fire security. _

"What do you want?" he asked irritably. There was a pause.

"Don't you recognize me?" the woman demanded. When he didn't respond, she huffed in frustration. "Vivian! Vivian Wong!"

This still didn't jog his memory, and Kaiba scowled. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't know you," he said. "Now get out of my car."

The cold object pressed harder into his back. "Not until you duel me!"

_So it's one of these freaks…_

Vivian babbled on; her shrill voice by Kaiba's ear was starting to give him a throbbing headache. Suppressing the urge to reach back and shove her out of the car, he forced himself to keep his voice level and eyes trained on the road. "Have you any idea whatsoever the kind of trouble you're asking for here?" he fairly snarled. "I have no patience for people like you-"

"I've had the patience to wait this long for an opportunity, have one too many foiled attempts, and after my rejection from Yugi I will have my love slave!"

…_love slave? And how the hell does Yugi tie into this?_

Kaiba turned right suddenly, pulling into a residential area, and parked in front of one of the houses. This had gone on for far too long already. "Out," he commanded in his most menacing voice. "Now."

But the cold object remained pressed against him, suddenly joined by a hand skimming over his shirt. In spite of himself, Kaiba was taken aback as the hand stopped at his collar, fiddling with the buttons. Well. He hadn't seen that coming. A quick glance at his rearview mirror showed amber eyes narrowed in an almost feral grin.

"If you're so against dueling, we could do something else-"

"We'll duel."

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mhm, yep. fail, I know. would you review anyway? please?**


	29. Cooking Chemistry

**I personally prefer Ardentshipping to this coupling, but I won't deny that these two look good together XD (and yes, I am aware that the music to go with this couple isn't really... uh... fitting. just go with it!)  
**

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SHIPPING: DUKE X SERENITY (CHEERSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: COOKING CHEMISTRY _

_THEME/MUSIC: WHISK/ CARRYOUT- TIMBALAND FEAT. JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE_

_TAGLINE: DUKE IS NOT ONE OF THESE PEOPLE. _

_WORDS: 654_

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There are people who live for food. Not just for the sake of eating it, but savoring it: relishing each bite and each resulting splash of flavor. Some even go far enough as to adopt it as a lifestyle- dedicate their waking hours to creating cuisine and sharing it with others. To them, there is no greater joy than sharing their art so that everyone can experience it.

Duke is not one of these people.

He really only had one thing to say about the culinary arts: if the thing on his plate was well-presented and edible, he'd eat it. By no means did he need to know what the ingredients were, how long it took to sauté, and whether it should be served with either red or white wine. Duke didn't care, quite frankly. He really didn't. Men were low maintenance like that.

And yet here he was, in a cooking class, surrounded by food freaks and chef wannabes. Sighing, Duke glanced over to his left, eyes sweeping over the table top before him. Scattered about in a rather haphazard fashion were various utensils and mixing bowls. The surface of the counter itself was coated with a thin layer of flour, punctuated with handprints and the occasional puddle of vegetable oil. Surveying the mess with a distasteful expression, Duke noticed a slim figure appear in his peripheral vision. Her hand awkwardly lifted a wooden spoon nearby, pausing at a bowl of frosting by his elbow. At least, what the bowl contained was supposed to be frosting- the substance was goopy and heavy with a lumpy and inconsistent texture. He found himself leaning minutely closer and caught a whiff of an odor similar to rotten eggs. Stifling his urge to gag, he spied the girl's other hand curl into a fist, hesitantly hovering over a salad fork and a spatula.

"Hey," he forced out in the most normal tone of voice he could. "Serenity. How about you just take my frosting?"

She started at his voice and glanced up quickly, cheeks coloring and eyes wide. This expression immediately wilted to guilt, and she bit at her lip. "I'm… I'm supposed to be good at this sort of thing," Serenity whispered. "I'm a girl, aren't I? A simple cooking class… I couldn't even- I… I burned coffee! Coffee! I'm a fail-"

Eager to reduce his chances of falling victim to a potential flood of feminine emotion, Duke quickly interrupted Serenity's half-wail, babbling some sort of comfort whilst grinning unconvincingly at the other staring students. Squeezing her shoulder encouragingly, he quickly glanced around the table for ideas.

"Look, we'll just start over," he said, taking Serenity's sniffle as an affirmative.

Shoving the putrid-smelling bowl to the side, Duke caught Serenity's arm. Grinning at her squeak of surprise, he tugged her in front of him, guiding her hands with his own. "First, you're going to need a lot of confectioner's sugar," he said, sliding his fingers to twine with hers. His smile widened at her flustered stutter, and he continued, taking extra care to lean his chin on her shoulder.

"Now hold the whisk like this," he instructed, "and gently whip the ingredients together." This was Duke Devlin's forte- not cooking food, but chemistry. Tristan had no chance.

"H-how did you get so good at this?" Serenity asked as the whisk yielded sweet-smelling fluffiness. Luckily, she didn't give him time to answer (Duke wasn't sure if saying "our busty teacher is worth looking at" was an appropriate response). "Thanks for taking this class with me, Duke," she murmured. "You're…" He leaned in closer to hear, smirking confidently. Tristan was going to hear about this. "You're a really good friend."

She didn't seem to notice his muted curse and sagging shoulders, beaming proudly instead at the bowl of frosting. Duke gritted his teeth. It seemed Tristan had been right after all when complaining about a certain auburn-haired girl's obliviousness.

**

* * *

I mean, come on. either Serenity is completely oblivious to both boys' affections, or she's rather skillfully avoiding both. maybe it's the latter... anyhow, please tell me what you think!**


	30. Calendar

**I honestly can't believe I wrote this... *double checks* oh dear... I really did... it's extremely weird. then again, I supposed that's kinda fitting for this couple... **

**this piece was heavily inspired by the music I selected for it- you should listen to the song! it's really good!**

_

* * *

SHIPPING: YAMI BAKURA X SERENITY (SCREAMSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: CALENDAR _

_THEME/MUSIC: __FAÇADE__/ I CAN TALK- TWO DOOR CINEMA CLUB _

_TAGLINE: SHE OUGHT TO HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN THAT._

_WORDS: 845_

* * *

It's all very cold and calculated. He makes sure of it. The last thing he wants is for her to get attached or something.

It's day two and she shifts backwards (to make him lean forward, he's already sure), pushing back the strands of hair clinging to her eyes and mouth. He refuses to humor her and lets his gaze fixate on her, through her, in her instead. (pushing, pulling, tugging and she yields like soft, malleable flesh on day six, somehow)

"Talk," she says, days one through four, the voice fluid yet crippled with sincere sarcasm. (sarcasm because he's sure she doesn't really care- he knows he doesn't) He barely knows her and yet he already can tell that her tongue is better suited for other things (maybe dipping and tangling with his), not twisting words into a semblance of control and comfort.

"I'm talking," he replies, silently, staring. He says the same thing on day seven and she flushes minutely, eyes sliding to the side as she tilts her head and its flushed cheeks along with it. Then he grins in a somewhat lewd fashion that makes her lips curve and legs press together.

"How was your day?" (this is the only thing that stays the same everyday)

He can talk, he knows. But he's more interested in doing other things, especially since day five. He knows that she knows that. (she knows on day six, when he's pushed her against the wood of her desk, sliding his hand under her flimsy shirt and threading his fingers into her hair) She also knows that every time she asks him the (same) question (every day) in the (same) room with its (goddamned same) white walls, he lies. But she's used to it by now (day ten and onward), he's sure. They have a routine.

(that's why he kept coming back, appointment after appointment)

"Are you going to talk?"

So she can dissect it and stash it neatly with her other notes in his manila portfolio? Give him a gold star instead. They'd both mean the same thing, any day.

She frowns. "I'm serious. I'm trying to help you." (that attempt stopped with day eight, when he pulls her to him and she lets him undo the buttons of her jacket)

He can talk. (every day, any day) He just doesn't want to. He doesn't talk when she asks him to because there's no point, and she glares reprovingly. (he doesn't even talk when she screams his name in the darkness of her apartment, days eighteen through twenty one, so that it sears his skin and the hands fisting into her clean white sheets)

"Stop trying to help me then. We can do something else."

It doesn't bother him that he knows almost nothing about her. She, supposedly, knows everything about him. (since day one) Criminal record, prescribed meds, he smokes cigarettes like an addict (they're bad for you, you know, and she takes it from him to blow smoke rings in his face on the building's rooftop, day thirteen), and he likes action flicks.

"Trying to help you is my job." (it's this steadfast try to hold onto her straight-as-an-arrow beliefs, despite his obvious disinterest, that makes his resolve all the more set to break her, and so he does, little by little each day)

"How much are you getting paid per hour?"

She sighs and he smirks. (he's also smirking when she gasps into his open mouth, winding her hands around his neck and her legs around his waist on day six; all good girls are like this underneath) An hour later, or whenever he's tired of the idle talk, he'll leave, taking his burning eyes and her smoldering heart (since day five) with him. Just for fun, of course. He tosses it into the nearest trashcan he can find each time he exits the building.

"Apparently, not enough."

He doesn't understand the attraction, sexual tension, eagerness, whatever this is. It scares him, even, (the fervor with which she kisses him and he lets her on days six through twenty one, the way she tries to straighten up and acts all embarrassed each time they're done, days six through eleven) but he wouldn't dare tell her that. She might eat it up in her wide eyes and parted lips and forget the façade he's built up to keep everyone (her) away. She might think he trusts her with that sort of thing, and he doesn't want that. (won't you tell me? she wants to know on day nine, and he can only focus on how he wants to crumble the last of her will)

Because the last thing he wants is for her to fall in love. (he's thought so since day one, but actually says so the very last time, leaving her apartment and the office with the white walls for good) He grins, shutting the door behind him and ignoring her stunned quiet. (and day twenty one draws to a close)

She ought to have known better than that.

**

* * *

**

**so instead of "evil Serenity," we now have "manipulated Serenity"... I like her, though! I really do! (contrary to what my writing may be insinuating) **

**so, longest piece yet... review?**


	31. Now You Come Alive

**hey all! well, this pairing was a special request, so this chapter is dedicated to Arien Elensar! sorry you had to wait so long before one of your requests got written, Arien! **

**this was actually incredibly difficult to write, considering the couple is so obscure, but I had a lot of fun, especially with this gorgeous song. I hope you all excuse the OOCness and AU, I did the best I could!  
**

_

* * *

SHIPPING: JOEY X ISHIZU (SWIFTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: __NOW__ YOU COME ALIVE _

_THEME/MUSIC: ASSAULT/ DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT ME?- VENUS __HUM_

_TAGLINE: BUT HE HASN'T __WON__, HE'S NOT EVEN CLOSE, __AND__ SHE REDOUBLES HER EFFORTS._

_WORDS: 467_

* * *

She focuses on her breathing, eyes trained on the figure before her. Inhale, exhale, in, out. The steady beat of air passing in and out of her lungs will serve as the tempo to which she will move. For now, it precedes her inevitable weaving and striking and simply ebbs and flows smoothly as she waits for her opponent to make the first move.

Then she sees him shift to the left, and she's darting toward him, eager to steal back the offensive.

He side-steps her assault easily, but it is just as she has anticipated. In a flurry of motion, she charges toward him, tossing blows with astonishing speed that he somehow manages to block, forcing her back with each movement of his arms. She curses softly as she seeks an opening, and feels him smirk.

Then he's moving fast, too fast, so that she barely dodges, feeling the skin of his fingertips graze her collarbone. The slight friction sends sparks dancing along the length of her outstretched arms and she catches sight of his triumphant face. But he hasn't won yet, he's not even close, and she redoubles her efforts.

The movements between the two of them, to anyone else, are leaden with carefully controlled hostility and a fluid grace. Their steely eyes mirror each other's but, oh so faintly, both are smiling. It's taken weeks of practice for the two to become matched in skill, but she teaches fast and he learns faster.

She doesn't miss the way his hands reach towards her waist, snaking about teasingly for the instant before she twists to drive her elbow into his stomach. But he dances away, his silent laugh echoing in her ears and goading her further. It makes her blood run fiery hot and throb to the rhythm of his heartbeat pulsing audibly in her ears. The adrenaline pumping white-hot leaves her reflexes lightning-quick and face flushed, the high buzzing at the back of her head.

And her eyes are too full with the sight of him, each advance pushing away all else so that his skin and breath and ripple of muscle are all she can see… He drops and strikes out his leg, sweeping under her feet to knock her off-balance. But she sees it coming, barely, before he can deal the damage, and leaps over and away, landing surely. But there's always a breaking point, and she sees his punches slow. Quickly, she feints to the right, pirouetting behind him before aiming a kick behind his knee. He gasps and buckles, stiffening when she slides in front of him to lean in.

"I win," she murmurs into his ear, pulling away slowly to lock her gaze with his.

His breath comes in harsh pants, but he still grins at her.

"This time."

**

* * *

**

**gah, I didn't know how to make it stop! I hope the ending didn't ruin it for any of you... btw, I may have lifted the chapter title from my onee-chan's awesome FullMetal Alchemist AMV... eheh... ****www(.)youtube(.)com/watch?v=OqJTPgxeDSs  
**

**I await your review! I do take requests for pairings!**


	32. Café Capers I

**hey all, long time no see! well, what can I say, I missed updating this! took some time out of my schedule to write for the pairing I've been dreading most, and here's the result! this will be a two part piece (different shipping next chapter), so expect the sister-story up soon!**

_

* * *

SHIPPING: YUGI X REBECCA (REPLAYSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: CAFÉ CAPERS I_

_THEME/MUSIC: SITUATION/ EVERYBODY'S STALKING- BADLY DRAWN BOY_

_TAGLINE: IT SEEMED THAT SHE HAD BROUGHT HIM TO PRACTICE VOYEURISM._

_WORDS: 544 _

* * *

Joey did not understand this. He was not to be blamed, however. The situation defied common sense and strong stomachs. It also, apparently, led to long-winded, scathing mutterings and iron grips on his wrist.

Then there was a sudden increase in pressure, and he felt the blood circulation in his right arm nosedive.

"…Téa," he choked out. "Stop it. Can't… feel… my arm…"

"What. Does. She. Think. She's. Doing," she growled by his ear, a fearsome noise that could only belong to a feral animal. "Who. Does. She. Think. She. Is." Each word was further punctuated by another squeeze.

"Leggo!" Joey gasped, wrenching his arm free. "God, Téa, no need to get so-"

But the remainder of his retort shriveled up and slid back into his throat at her withering stare.

"Pay attention!" she snapped. "I didn't just bring you here to whine!"

No. It seemed that she had brought him to practice voyeurism. Was this something she read in Cosmo? He had told her numerous times that that magazine was devil's spawn and glitter. Glittery devil's spawn.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Joey's voicing of these thoughts only merited several smart smacks on his throbbing arm. "Then why are we here?" he hissed, nursing the injured limb and glaring at Téa's narrowed eyes and pinched lips.

She only glared back before silently turning to peer intently through the fake potted plants again. Sighing loudly, Joey followed her gaze, lifting a hand to part the plastic leaves. Yes, they were still there, contemplating menus. Not much else had happened in the five or so minutes that he and Téa had started their stalking, yet Téa had found multiple reasons to grab at him, furiously insisting that the girl was about to make a move. He rolled his eyes.

As well as Joey knew Téa, he knew Yugi even better. This was not too difficult, as Téa was a girl and therefore mostly incomprehensible, and Yugi was nothing more than one of those almost sickeningly sweet gumdrops; caution: cute, melts. Still, both of them had feelings, and he wasn't so dense that he couldn't pick up on them.

Yugi looked like he was having fun, laughing with the girl and engaging in her chatter. She was gesturing animatedly, leaning over every now and then to touch Yugi's arm. Her hair was swept up in a neat ponytail, different from the usual mess that hung to her waist, and she had abandoned her usual uniform for a simple sundress. She looked flushed and happy. She even looked almost pretty, and it seemed that Yugi had noticed. The girl said something and he blushed.

Whoa. They almost looked like they were dating. Like, dating dating. Actually dating. Dating! Joey gulped. What if they did start for real? That would be awkward, considering none of the gang really liked her… but how long could Yugi hold onto his old crush?

"You know, Rebecca's being really normal instead of rabidly possessive," Joey found himself saying. Instantly, he rebuked himself for the comment, stiffening in anticipation of a flurry of blows and indignant responses. When none came, Joey stole a look at his friend.

Téa looked almost sad. "He really does look like he's having a good time," she murmured. "Maybe…"

**

* * *

...maybe I'll be posting the next installment soon? drop a review by and let me know what you think so far!**

**(also, don't forget that I take requests for pairings! as long as it's het, I'd be happy to try my hand at it!)  
**


	33. Café Capers II

**here we are, the second and final installment of "Café Capers!"**

_

* * *

SHIPPING: YUGI X TEA (PEACHSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: CAFÉ CAPERS II_

_THEME/MUSIC: FOLIAGE/ ARE YOU GONNA BE MY GIRL?- JET_

_TAGLINE: WHAT WAS HE DOING HERE?_

_WORDS: 622_

* * *

The outing had started off promisingly enough. Rebecca had met him at the outdoor café, all smiles and bright eyes, dressed in a far more appropriate fashion for her age. There was idle chit-chat, she blushed at his compliments and fiddled with a strand of hair from her ponytail, and he found himself surprised at how much she had matured. But, although the clinginess and declarations of undying love had subsided, he still found himself somewhat hesitant.

What was he doing here? He knew that this was a date, not "a harmless outing" as Rebecca had insisted when she invited him. But he'd said yes anyway, unwilling to hurt her feelings, and Rebecca was happy… It was stupid of him to hang onto childhood crushes, anyway. He frowned slightly. Or was it stupid to hang onto the fear of rejection?

"Yugi?"

He snapped to attention, nearly upsetting the milkshake at his elbow. "S-sorry," he stammered. "I was just… thinking about something."

"No worries," Rebecca beamed. "I'll be right back, okay? I need to make a trip to the ladies' room."

He smiled distractedly in response, waiting for her to disappear from sight. When she did, he exhaled loudly, running a hand over his face. When he opened his eyes, they alighted on the artificial plants some feet away. He blinked. There was a distinctive blond head sticking out, rustling the shrubbery around it. Standing up slowly, Yugi made his way over, stopping a few steps away from the tousled hair.

"…Joey?"

There was a feminine, muffled squeak and a moment's silence. The plastic ferns swayed, slowing from their frenzied activity until they were still. Yugi frowned, reaching to part the fake foliage, before leaping backwards with a yelp as Joey shot up into sight.

"Oh hey, Yug!" he exclaimed loudly, rattling the ceramic pots with his sudden movement. "You're at this café too? Who knew?" He grinned unconvincingly, pointedly ignoring the stares from the other customers nearby.

Yugi lowered his arms from his face. "Joey? Were you… spying on me?"

Joey coughed, rubbing at his neck. "Actually…we- er, I was training you! What if we, um, I was some rabidly possessive fangirl? W- I could've eaten you! You little…gumdrop, you…" There was a derisive snort from the plants.

Yugi stared. "What?"

Joey flushed. "Téa's here too!"

He reached down and yanked a flailing, red-faced Téa into view. She looked mortified, glaring furiously at Joey. Yugi felt his stomach do an odd sort of flip-flop as she cautiously met his gaze, and he mentally scolded his internal organs for their lack of control.

"What are you both doing here?" he asked slowly. They fidgeted uncomfortably.

His eyes widened suddenly, fixating on Téa. She was flushed, her hair was rumpled, she was breathing a bit heavily, and she'd been hiding behind plastic bushes with Joey. Ding ding.

Half of him wanted to the Earth to swallow him up and the other half wanted to congratulate the two. The result was a pained grimace.

"Are you okay?" Téa gasped, all feelings of awkwardness cast aside. She rushed over to Yugi, putting a hand to his forehead. "Did you eat something strange?" Yugi's face turned the color of an overripe apple.

"I think you both need to talk," said Joey, his voice lost in Téa's concerned exclamations.

Turning to go, he saw Rebecca watching from the table, her face blank. Sighing, he strode over, stopping in front of her. She was still staring at his two friends, Téa now laughing and Yugi grinning.

"Look," he said. "It's something that you can't understand. Hell, I don't understand it completely. But that's how it's always been, and how it should be." Joey paused, scrutinizing Rebecca. "So bug off."

**

* * *

I tried to be nice to Rebecca. it didn't work. I'm not sorry.**

**review?**


	34. Loud Voices and Quiet Words

**wow, three chapters in one day! I've really been deprived of writing this collection, so I was just filled with inspiration today! this pairing was actually a last minute addition to my list; I read up on series 0 and decided to base this off of those relationships.**

_

* * *

SHIPPING: BAKURA X MIHO (HALFSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: LOUD VOICES AND QUIET WORDS _

_THEME/MUSIC: CORRESPONDENCE/ LOVE LETTERS- ELVIS PRESLEY_

_TAGLINE: HE FEELS LIKE THE KEY IS BURNING A HOLE IN HIS POCKET AS HE WALKS BACK TO CLASS._

_WORDS: 919_

* * *

"Hey. Are you the one?" the girl asks, tilting her head to the side so that her loud voice bounces around the room.

He can't help but feel like he's in some sort of bizarre movie, a spy film, perhaps. Dodging imaginary suspicious glances and dashing into classrooms before anyone can see— not to mention the correspondences with mysterious people he doesn't know.

"Are you?" the girl repeats, louder still.

He nods nervously, willing himself not to fidget as she scrutinizes him. She's a willowy little thing, with wide eyes and a noisy gait and vibrant hair pulled up in a ponytail. He gets the feeling that he knows her from some place, but he can't remember where exactly. She straightens suddenly, her inspection over, and he realizes that he'd been staring.

"Fine then," she chirps, handing him a small key. His fingers brush hers as he takes it. "This opens the mailbox. The English club thanks you." She bows slightly and then flounces out the door, her ponytail swishing.

He feels like the key is burning a hole in his pocket as he walks back to class.

* * *

_Dear Kyuusho,_

_There's this really hot boy and I think he might like me. I want to find out. He's in my homeroom… any suggestions?_

_XOXO, Ribbon_

* * *

"It's embarrassing," he groans, covering his face. "I don't understand why I have to be the one to do it."

"It's because you're pretty close to being a woman," Joey taunts before yelping in pain. "Ow! Téa!"

"It's because you're sensitive and the only one willing enough," she corrects, pulling her hand back from Joey's arm. "Plus, it's extra credit for English, and you know that Fujibayashi-sensei is out to get you."

"Plus, this way you get to know which babes are single and which aren't," Joey grins. "Ow! Damnit, Téa!"

* * *

_Dear "Ribbon,"_

_Do you reciprocate this boy's potential feelings? If you don't, then I suggest leaving the matter be and focusing on your studies. Especially if you have Fujibayashi-sensei._

_Sincerely, Kyuusho_

_(P.S. Thank you for your Xs and Os)_

* * *

"Hey, people are onto you," Tristan announces during lunch. "They figure that no girl writes like you do."

He turns his serene face from the window and frowns. "I thought I was doing fine," he despairs. "What do I say if someone asks?"

Tristan shrugs. "Just say that it doesn't matter if you are or aren't a girl. Or something. Jeez, I dunno, man. You're the one doing this-"

He stops midsentence, gaze fixated on someone else. Following Tristan's stare, he catches a glimpse of the noisy girl with the long ponytail skipping by. There is the noise of a chair scraping backwards, and when he turns around, Tristan is long gone. He goes back to staring out the window.

When he walks into the English clubroom later that day, she's not there and he opens the mailbox in silence.

* * *

_Dear Kyuusho,_

_Actually, I do have Fujibayashi-sensei! He's really mean! And I like the boy, if that's what you mean, but I think he barely notices me. I really, really like him though!_

_XOXOXO, Ribbon_

_(P.S. It's rumored that you're a boy)_

* * *

"How goes it?"

He looks away from Téa's expectant gaze. "It… goes…"

"So 'business' is good?"

He sighs. "All of the letters are about the same thing: love troubles. There is this one girl, though. She keeps sending letters in, all about the same guy. She has Fujibayashi-sensei, too."

She arches a brow. "Oh?"

"That's not all I write about, though!" he protests. "I'm afraid I'm not too good at this…"

"Don't be silly! You're doing great!" Téa amends quickly. "I'll see you later, 'kay? I gotta go talk to someone."

* * *

_Dear "Ribbon,"_

_Maybe you should get to know him and find out common interests. You may find that he's not your type after all._

_Sincerely, Kyuusho_

_(P.S. That doesn't matter)_

* * *

"Are you handling the workload alright?" she asks, her voice unusually hushed.

She's idly fiddling with a strand of lavender hair, her legs crossed and back straight. He's half-waiting for her to unfold from that position and move around enthusiastically, but she doesn't. He nods finally. It's quiet for a while, save for the whispers of her silky hair and his rustling letters echoing in the room.

"That's good," she says.

He shuts the mailbox.

* * *

_Dear Kyuusho,_

_I think I should just go for it! Thanks for all your advice!_

_XOXOXOXO, Ribbon_

_(P.S. you're not fooling me~)_

* * *

"I think I might drop this answer column thing," he says. "It's too much work."

Nobody really tries to stop him.

"If you say so."

"I'm with Joey. What about you, Yugi?"

"Well if he doesn't want to do it, nobody should force him."

They look to Téa for her answer, but she's watching the girl with the ponytail enter the classroom. He is the only one unsurprised when Tristan grins and strides over towards her purposefully. Then they're all surprised when she cuts Tristan off and moves around him, breezing on past Joey and Yugi. Téa's face is carefully neutral.

When the girl stops, it is right in front of him.

She stares at him and he stares back, baffled. He hears Tristan make an indignant noise and Téa shush him. When he still makes no move to do anything, she sighs, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. The yellow ribbon perched on her head bobs slightly.

"I like you, bozo," she says in that booming voice. "Go out with me already."

**

* * *

yepppp, longest one so far... this was interesting to write since I've never seen footage of Miho. all I had was a random wiki page on her, and that's where I drew up her personality. hope it turned out okay! also, "ribbon" is Miho's nickname in the series, since she wears a yellow ribbon in her hair all the time.  
**

**("kyuusho" means "secret" by the way. I know. original, right?)  
**


	35. Once, He Knew

**two years, 35 chapters. pathetic, really. **

**well, about 25 to go! thank you to everyone who has held on for the ride so far! this is dedicated to dandelion-heart- your full-length story will be up soon enough!  
**

* * *

_SHIPPING: ATEM X KISARA (CHUTESHIPPING)_

_TITLE: ONCE, HE KNEW _

_THEME/MUSIC: SOLAR ECLIPSE/ FALLING SLOWLY- GLEN HANSARD _

_TAGLINE: SHE'D NEVER SPOKEN TO HIM._

_WORDS: 375_

* * *

He sees her often in his dreams: a pale wisp of a person, thin hands and hushed sighs.

(he stared the first time, speechless at the clarity of her image, and she found his gaze and held it)

It always starts the same way. An itching sensation behind his lids, fists clenching, throat parched- then darkness when he opens his eyes. It is the solar eclipse, reality, before her dawn; flooding his senses as she sharpens into focus, blotting out the rest.

She never smiles, her expression forever blank, and she shows no signs of recognition each time they meet. He finds himself wondering if they've met before (maybe in this half-life or the one locked away in one of the many dusty rooms in this mind-prison), but the question always stays teetering on the tip of his tongue.

("Who are you?" he'd once dared to ask, and she shimmered briefly before melting into the nothingness of the dream)

There is a foreign beauty in her stillness, a delicate air in her slender shape and bright eyes, that stops him from rippling their shared silence with his words. She smells of sand and faded sun and her eyes are clear pools of water. Her hair is the spun silver of starlight, cascading down her shoulders to spill over the elegant contours of her face and dribble onto his fingers.

(he touched her once, the glowing white flesh of her forearm, and she was cool and real and he was so surprised he woke up)

He can't remember for how long this goes on, this quiet courtship, but it plagues him, this seizing desire to know, to understand what is reflected in her eyes-

"Why are you here?" he whispers, reaching out.

Wordlessly, she lifts her hand to twine with his. His breath catches in his throat as her lips part, brushing his ear, and he hears ocean waves and the grind of ancient stone on stone-

When he wakes, breathing ragged and memory blurred, he resurfaces in solitary. Her image, seemingly burned into his mind, slips away into crumbling embers and ashes before dissolving into nothing at all.

She'd never spoken to him.

(and for some inexplicable reason, the realization fractures his heart in two)

* * *

**review please! it helps convince me that this is worth continuing!**


	36. Café Capers III

**I'M BACK. it's spring break for me, which means I'll get to update this lovely collection! huzzah! I want to give a big thank you to everyone who has been following this series and ask you all to hang on for some time longer!**

**I know I said that "Café Capers II" would be the last one in that scenario, but I realized I wanted to wrap up some loose ends with it. so here's another one! I hope you all enjoy!  
**

* * *

_SHIPPING: JOEY X REBECCA (FRAZZLESHIPPING)_

_TITLE: CAFÉ CAPERS III_

_THEME/MUSIC: OVERANALYZE/ SUDDENLY, LOVE- LEA SALONGA _

_TAGLINE: SHE WOULD THINK THAT HE WOULD BE TACTFUL ENOUGH TO STEER CLEAR OF TOUCHY TOPICS WHILE SHE WAS WALLOWING IN SELF-PITY._

_WORDS: 706_

* * *

This was kind of awkward. Kind of extremely awkward. Kind of amazingly, mindblowingly, incomprehensibly awkward. She dared herself to lift her gaze from the lacy doily on the checkered tablecloth.

_There is absolutely no reason for you to blow this out of proportion or overanalyze this. This has to be out of pity. It has to be. Or maybe he's genuinely sympathetic? And a fan of Fermat's Last Theorem…_

_God, Rebecca, who are you kidding? It's pity. And it seems that's all you're ever going to get-_

"Y'know, you shouldn't mutter to yourself in public. It doesn't do much to get rid of the 'crazy girl' image."

Rebecca stiffened, slowly and deliberately looking up to glare at the offending person through her bangs. Joey recoiled slightly from the intensity of her stare, and coughed, dropping his eyes back to his own doily. She would think that he would be tactful enough to steer clear of touchy topics while she was wallowing in self-pity.

"And you shouldn't treat me, a lady, like some mentally insane patient about to explode," she growled.

Joey rolled his eyes. "You can't really blame me after all your 'Yugi attacks' I've witnessed. And you're no lady. You're…" He paused to gesture vaguely at her feet dangling some inches above the floor. "You're little," he decided finally.

It was Rebecca's turn to roll her eyes. "In size, surely, but that doesn't make up for my intellect-"

"Yeah, yeah. Omigosh, you're a college student. Gasp. Oh no, it's true. Gasp some more, stare in awe. We've already gone through this."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow at Joey's monotone, suddenly interested that her trump card had been waved away. "You're not intimidated by my intelligence?"

He frowned. "Why would I be? Smart or not, you're just a kid-"

"I am _not _a kid."

"You're a kid. And like I was saying, smart or not, you've made mistakes, you're going to make mistakes, and you're going to learn from them. You can't have just skipped all that…"

Rebecca sensed his change in tone and looked up at him full in the face for the first time that day. Joey's expression was serious and his eyes were guarded, as though waiting for her to make some sort of defensive retort. She felt like he was trying to tell her something with that statement. Or further impress on her that Yugi was far out of reach and she was a few years and one broken Gameboy too late to even think of receiving affection.

_I think you're giving him too much credit, Rebecca. This is the guy who nearly failed high school._

But really, that wasn't fair of her. Sure, he'd ever so eloquently told her to "bug off" a bit ago, but he'd probably seen past her schooled blank expression and found the hurt and insecurity. Why else would he have suddenly announced that he was going to treat her with something and then steered her back to the table? She must've made a pitiful sight with her sagging shoulders and unshed tears threatening to fall. She'd certainly felt pathetic thinking about the time it had taken to tease her hair into something decent and pick out her stupid sundress-

Joey's expression had changed to one of concern. His brown eyes were wrinkled at the corners from his frown, stray blond hair shading his gaze. The smooth line of his jaw was troubled and his lips parted as though to say something. Was he going to ask her if she was okay? Or would he see through her yet again and say something stupid or surprisingly insightful-

Rebecca realized with a start that Joey Wheeler was _very_ attractive. She flushed.

_It's like the suspension bridge effect! Leftover feelings are carrying over, don't think about it, say something!_

"Y-yeah, I guess," she stammered, hoping that was a sufficient response.

Joey grinned reassuringly, pushing the hair off his forehead. Rebecca forced herself not to stare. "Give it time," he said. "You've already mellowed out a lot, and… you don't look half bad."

"…are you saying I'm pretty?"

Joey sputtered. "That's not what I said!"

Rebecca bit back a smile. "But you implied it."

"You- you overanalyze everything, you know that?"

* * *

**ohoho. I sense a new subject for Rebecca to stalk.**

**review, please?  
**


	37. Material Girl

**I'd been wondering how to approach this couple, and I'm not sure I did it well enough, but I did have fun writing this!**

* * *

_SHIPPING: DUKE X MAI (FLIPPANTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: MATERIAL GIRL _

_THEME/MUSIC: IN TOW/ GIRLS AND BOYS- GOOD CHARLOTTE _

_TAGLINE: I'D SUGGEST THAT YOU'D HANG ONTO THAT BOYFRIEND OF YOURS; HE'S A BIT TOO GOOD-LOOKING TO USE AS A PACK MULE._

_WORDS: 716_

* * *

"I need this."

"Mhm."

"This color is exactly what I've been looking for."

"Mhm."

"I was starting to worry that I wouldn't find a single top in this color, but thank god for restocking."

"I know, right."

"Now, I know that I've already combed through this section, but there's no way that they can't have a single decent floral printed dress."

"You're holding one."

"Yes, well, I'm holding three, actually. But I haven't tried them on yet and I have to, otherwise I can't really say I've decided I'm going to get it, and therefore I don't _really_ have one."

"Of course."

"Here, hold these too. I have three pairs of jeggings, but I'm thinking that maybe I should get one more. Except they'd be pleather instead of denim. You know what I mean?"

"Uh-huh."

"I think they're over there. The shiny ones. Girls wear them when they go clubbing. I know Téa owns a pair, so maybe I should wait until I can ask her."

"By all means."

"Or I could text her and wait."

"Or that."

"But maybe she won't respond for a while. I think she's at work."

"She very well could be."

"Well, maybe I should start trying things on."

"Please."

"I see the dressing room over there. Can you hold this too? And make sure you don't drop any of the other shopping bags. I'd hate for something to get prematurely wrinkled."

"The horror."

"Ooh, wait, I see a really cute looking skirt. Go in without me and grab a stall, would you? You know how cutthroat those other girls in line can get."

"Do I ever."

"Be right there!"

"Hey, are you done using that stall?"

"Wha- oh. Oh yes. I am."

"Could I use it, please?"

"Who could say no to you? You here with your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Pity she treats you like a pack mule. If you were with me, I wouldn't let you carry everything."

"My hypothetical self thanks you."

"You're, like, not even hot. You're _beautiful_."

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't heard that one before."

"Hey, so it turns out that that skirt was actually really ugly- Who's this?"

"We just met. She was kind enough to let you have this stall."

"I'd suggest that you hang onto that boyfriend of yours; he's a bit too good-looking to use as a pack mule."

"What the-"

"Thanks again for letting her use this. Here, you wanted a stall, so go in and try something on."

"But that little-"

"Here. Try this dress on."

"Were you-"

"And you'd better like this dress, because I've had to carry it around for god knows how long."

"Hey…"

"And the way you were going on and on about this damn dress -"

"Duke…"

"-must mean that you might just _die _if you can't have it_. _And you don't-"

"Duke."

"-want to die, do you? So, I suggest-"

"Duke."

"-you try it on and buy it right this instant before you suddenly _die_! Because girls don't like boys, girls like clothes and money-"

"Duke!"

"Mai!"

"Shut up! You're making a scene! Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Maybe because half the things you have in tow are made of cheap material, or are unflattering for your body type, or don't properly accentuate your assets-"

"Unflattering? Assets?"

"-or you're paying too much for something that's not worth it, or you're getting the wrong color for spring season, or those strappy shoes are _so _going to last half a day-"

"Duke."

"What?"

"I love you. You know that, right?"

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Don't even joke about that! I want you to be able to tell me these things."

"Then you'd better throw out half the crap I'm holding."

"…half?"

"Yeah."

"…okay. Just not that top in the perfect color!"

"Fine."

"Hey. I really do love you."

"I know. I love you, too."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Not every guy is lucky enough to get a hot blond with money to blow. I wouldn't put up with you if I didn't think you were worth it."

"And you're too good for those stupid girls who are always trying to steal you from me."

"You're cute when you're jealous."

"You're just cute."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. You're still throwing out half of this."

* * *

**did anyone else catch my slight change of the lyric "girls don't like boys, girls like cars and money"? I really like that Good Charlotte song...**

**I know this boasts nothing of my writing skill, but I still wanted to do a piece with nothing but dialogue. I hope you all enjoyed this, please leave me a review!**


	38. Loud Words and Quiet Voices

**ever since I decided to throw Miho into the mix of couples, I've been wondering how to write TristanxMiho (he was madly in love with her in series 0, for those of you who didn't know). I decided to link this chapter to "Loud Voices and Quiet Words" and write a sequel, hence the name "Loud Words and Quiet Voices." I had so much fun writing that I ended up making this piece the longest.**

**dandelion-heart, I dedicate this chapter to you! I hope you like it.  
**

* * *

_SHIPPING: TRISTAN X MIHO (TIESHIPPING)_

_TITLE: LOUD WORDS AND QUIET VOICES _

_THEME/MUSIC: FRATERNIZE/ WHAT'S YOUR NAME- JESSE MCCARTNEY_

_TAGLINE: HE IS IN LOVE WITH HER AND HE HAS NO IDEA WHO SHE IS._

_WORDS: 1,128_

* * *

It's love at first sight. He knows.

It's a gut-wrenching, face-flushing, fingers-trembling, knee-knocking kind of love. It astounds him with its simplicity and baffles him with its incomprehensibility. It's conflicting, contradictory, and yet it makes perfect sense.

"I said, are you buying something or not?" She tosses her lavender ponytail over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. The yellow ribbon holding up her hair bobs. "You're holding up the cafeteria line!" He gapes at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

He is in love with her and he has no idea who she is.

* * *

He blinks and he's sitting back in the classroom, his friends gathered around Bakura and asking him questions about that stupid answer column he's running now. He has no recollection of how he escaped the girl's burning gaze nor if he managed to conceal his utter worship of her.

It doesn't bother him that he made a fool of himself in front of her. No, he has chances to redeem himself, after all. The only thing bothering him is that one thought plaguing him ever since he saw her perfect, heart-shaped face.

_How have I not noticed you before?_

He wants to write love ballads about the way her ponytail sways. He wants to write poetry about the way her brow creases when she frowns. He wants to paint murals of her pouting mouth and delicate chin. But most of all he wants her to look at him again with those same questioning eyes and ask him something else.

Preferably for him to kiss her. But he's open to a variety of options.

* * *

_Dear Kyuusho,_

_I can't really believe I'm asking you something, but I need help. I'm desperately in love with a girl who thinks I'm an idiot. How do I make her fall in love with me?_

_-Smitten_

* * *

_Dear "Smitten,"_

_Prove to her that you're not an idiot._

_Sincerely, Kyuusho_

* * *

He's a bit annoyed at Bakura for not properly addressing his fervor for the girl with the ponytail, and so decides to somewhat sadistically worry him.

"Hey, people are onto you," he announces during lunch. "They figure that no girl writes like you do."

Bakura turns from the window dolefully. "I thought I was doing fine," he half-wails. "What do I say if someone asks?"

He shrugs, looking away from Bakura's pleading expression and quashing the ensuing guilt. "Just say that it doesn't matter if you are or aren't a girl. Or something. Jeez, I dunno, man. You're the one doing this-"

He stops midsentence, train of thought completely forgotten. Everything melts away— there is no Bakura, no classroom, no noise, nothing. Just the bouncing step of the girl with the ponytail as she passes by the door. He can catch a snippet of the tune she hums to herself and he is seized with the need to keep her in sight. Before he knows it, he's shoved his chair back and stumbled after her.

He is so convinced that he'll make a fool of himself again that he trails after her rather than fraternize, ducking behind walls and weaving through students in the hallways. He's blissfully unaware of the stares he is attracting, perfectly content to watch the way the girl's skirt flounces.

* * *

He is no longer content to watch the way her skirt flounces. It's been three days since he first saw her.

He needs to talk to her. He needs to somehow let her know that he is absolutely in love with the way she stands with a hand on her hip, laughs loudly, fiddles with her silky strands of hair…

"Téa," he chokes on the fourth day, in the middle of their English class.

"Shh," she hisses from in front of him.

"No talking!" commands Fujibayashi-sensei, shoving his thick glasses further up his nose and scowling.

He waits until the man turns back to the chalkboard to continue his lecture. "Téa, I need your help."

"Ask me during group work."

He waits for thirteen minutes, agonizing, before Fujibayashi-sensei announces it is time for group work. Téa turns to him with a skeptical expression. "What?" she deadpans.

Clearly she doesn't see the way he's withering away like a plant without sunlight.

"I-I think I'm in love," he wheezes.

She looks surprised. "With who?"

"I don't know her name. Wait," he insists when Téa rolls her eyes. "She's the girl with the lavender ponytail."

She looks even more surprised. "Miho?"

"Miho…"

Never has he heard a more beautiful name.

"Why her?"

He looks at Téa indignantly. "Why not?"

"Do you even know her?"

His eyes glaze over. "Does it matter…?"

He doesn't hear Téa tell him why it matters.

* * *

"Hey."

He's dreaming. Or dying. Or dead. But there is no way this is happening to him.

"Hhh- huh…"

The girl (_Miho_, his mind gleefully supplies) is talking to him. She is gracing his unworthy presence with her shadow. He is tempted to break into song.

"You're friends with Bakura?"

And instantly he is wary. "You mean Kyuusho?"

She frowns. "You're not supposed to know that. Don't tell anyone, okay?" He nods vigorously, eager to please her. "Tristan, isn't it?"

He wants to weep. She knows his name.

"Y-yuhh, nngh."

"Right. Do you know if he's interested in anyone?"

"I don't know," he says, annoyed that Bakura's name keeps coming up. "Hey, listen, do you maybe, possibly, want to…"

But her face is pensive. She bites her lower lip and he is entranced. "I'll see you later, okay?" she says, then turns on her heel and prances away.

He decides life is worth living because she promised to see him again. He knew it. She loves him too.

* * *

"I think I might drop this answer column thing," Bakura says, brooding. "It's too much work."

Nobody really tries to stop him.

"If you say so."

He shrugs, pausing in his list of baby names. "I'm with Joey. What about you, Yugi?"

"Well if he doesn't want to do it, nobody should force him."

They look to Téa for her answer, but she's watching Miho enter the classroom. He knows that now is the time, in front of Bakura, to have her prove her love to him. Grinning, he strides over to her.

He can _hear _his heart fracture when she smoothly side-steps him and continues walking. His dumbfounded expression mirrors those on the faces of his friends. Téa's face is the only one that remains blank.

When Miho stops in front of Bakura, his heart shatters to ricochet off the walls. He squeaks in protest, but Téa silences him.

"I like you, bozo," Miho says in that booming voice. "Go out with me already."

He collapses in a fit of unrequited love as Bakura stammers an "okay."

* * *

**I'm really sorry, Tristan. it seems that I'm happy when you're not... I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, please review!**


	39. The Dual Nature of a Fractured Fantasy

**not really sure what to think of this one... I went back and redid the format quite a few times before I settled on what I wanted, and I hope it turned out okay... this is an AU piece, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless!**

* * *

_SHIPPING: BAKURA X SERENITY (SOFTSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: THE DUAL NATURE OF A FRACTURED FANTASY _

_THEME/MUSIC: MIRAGE/ PRETTY GIRLS MAKES GRAVES- THE SMITHS_

_TAGLINE: I'M NOT AS PRISTINE AS YOU THINK._

_WORDS: 572_

* * *

He's a soft sort of beautiful that fogs her mind and glazes her eyes over. It's almost magnetic in the way he draws her to him, in the way that she peeks at him during class, in the way that she idly traces his name on her pillow.

"H-hello," she finds herself stammering at their first meeting in some hallway.

"Hello, Serenity."

He knows her name and she is forever after captivated.

* * *

There's an inexplicable air of delicacy in the snowy white of his hair and the clear brown of his eyes.

She has irrational urges to reach out and touch him to see if he is really real— to assure herself that his absolute perfection is no mirage from the heat of her fervor. She wants to keep him in sight so that her heart can ease its anxious beating. She asks questions and makes excuses just to hear him talk.

"-and so you get the value of x. Do you understand now?"

She nods dumbly and etches his gentle image into her memory. "Yes, thank you."

* * *

His pallor is almost sickly and only changes when he blushes faintly at her adoration. "You're impossibly perfect," she likes to tell him in breathy whispers, watching his pale cheek cloud with color. "How can anyone be so nice?"

He spends more time with her now, sitting with her outside in the courtyard during lunch, walking shoulder-to-shoulder in the halls, and letting her brush her fingertips nearer to his.

"I'm not as pristine as you think."

And with his every quiet word and lidded gaze, she is further entranced, enamored, oblivious, in love.

* * *

She tells herself it's nothing when she ventures to thread her fingers through his. It's nothing when she leans her head on his shoulder. It's nothing when she shyly presses herself up against him in an embrace and it's nothing when she tilts her lips up to his.

It's nothing because he does nothing; he is always the same: a blank, angelic face and a smooth unsmiling mouth. His cold, marble perfection never falters.

"Don't you have anything to say?" she murmurs.

His silence crumbles her insides to powder.

* * *

His hands are icy when she holds them and his eyes are withdrawn. With each and every attempt, each and every display of affection, he has nothing to tell and she despairs. He is no different from a porcelain doll.

"Say something," she begs one day, her voice breaking. "Anything. Is it me? What's wrong with me? I'll do anything, I… I love you."

And his still expression wavers.

"No, you don't."

Her eyes widen. "…what?"

"There's a demon inside me that you don't know. It wants you. It wants to tear you apart, limb from limb, and devour you. Your bones and skin and heart. It wants to crush you and drink your blood."

Every word is flat and dull, a voice that is not his. His face is colorlessly beautiful and foreign to her— it's him but he is not the same person-

"You're… who…?" She trembles.

"Keep away from him, Serenity. There can only be one other person who shares this heart."

His eyes are cold and mocking as he kisses her for the first and last time.

* * *

She keeps away.

She keeps away and he continues to live with his cackling demon, wishing that she meant it when she said she loved him.

* * *

**Serenity=warped storylines for me.** **I think I have something like two normal stories for her in this collection...**

**review, please!**


	40. Stereo Love

**so! this is another AU piece (I should really tally up how many canon and AU pieces I have total thus far...) and between a difficult couple! I don't really like this, it's rather lackluster, but it's lighthearted. I feel like that might've been necessary after the previous chapter, haha.** **anyhow, I hope you all enjoy!**

**(I made up the shipping name for this one because I couldn't find a pre-existing one online... )**

* * *

_SHIPPING: VALON X VIVIAN (VANITYSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: STEREO LOVE _

_THEME/MUSIC: NON SEQUITUR/ RUNAWAY BABY- BRUNO MARS_

_TAGLINE: HE REALLY SHOULD'VE KNOWN THAT THERE WAS A MODEL LIVING ON THE FLOOR BELOW HIM._

_WORDS: 743_

* * *

His fingers danced nimbly up and down, plucking at chords and teasing out warbling guitar riffs. His voice was loud in the emptiness of his apartment, echoing off the sparse furniture and cardboard boxes. But that was what music was for— it was something to fill in the space. The beats swelled and he felt himself grin; it was time for the chorus.

"Exiiiiiiiiiiit light, enter niiiiiiiiiiiight-"

_Thump thump._

"-taaaaaaaaake my haaaaaaand, off to never never land!"

_Thump thump thump._

Valon paused in his air guitar and head-banging to listen. There seemed to be a muffled noise coming from underneath his floor. He almost didn't notice, but that may or may not have been because of the Metallica song blasting from his speakers.

Hopping off his couch, Valon strode across the room to his stereo. Turning the dial lower, he strained his ears for the thumping sound. When he heard nothing, he shrugged to himself and spun the dial up once again.

"Something's wrong," he sang, "shut the light-"

_Thump thump._

Valon groaned at the interruption, dropping his hands to his sides. He could definitely hear the noise now— it sounded more urgent this time. And at his door.

He contemplated ignoring it.

_Thumpthumpthumpthump._

Maybe that was a bad idea.

Lowering the volume again, Valon made his way to the door. "It had better not be the old landlady coming to evict me already," he grumbled. "Somehow I doubt wide eyes and vigorous nods will be enough to win that tyrant over…"

Exhaling, Valon pulled the door open just as the source of the noise attempted to knock again. A fist came crashing onto his face without warning.

"Omigosh, I'm so sorry!" a young, feminine voice bleated when he yelped like a kicked dog. "Are you bleeding?"

"God damn," Valon moaned, staring cross-eyed at his nose. At least the fact that the person's voice was definitely not his landlady's meant that angry retorts were a-okay. "What the hell's your problem?" he snapped, fingering his nose gingerly.

"I… you need to stop blasting that crap so loudly! This wouldn't have happened if… god, you're not really bleeding, are you?"

"Crap?" Valon repeated indignantly, ignoring her concern and looking up in annoyance. "Metallica is not cr- Uh."

He really should've known that there was a model living on the floor below him. He would think that that would've been something he'd investigated while house-hunting.

She was thin and leggy with shapely arms crossed defensively in front of her. Despite the fact that said limbs were in the way, Valon had no trouble seeing that the girl was _stacked_. She must've noticed his glazed-over expression because there was a not-so-subtle cough to draw his attention back to her face. And it was a _very _nice face. Brown eyes, high cheekbones, pouting lips.

"Hey," Valon grinned appreciatively.

The girl rolled her eyes at his suddenly deeper voice. "And to think I was genuinely worried. Listen, there are other people living in this building. Keep it down."

She turned as though to leave, and Valon scrambled for something to keep her a little while longer. "Did you really come all the way upstairs to tell me that?"

The girl turned back with an arched eyebrow. "Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, uh, I know that you know that, uh, all good neighbors come and introduce themselves to new tenants."

She paused. "I'm Vivian. I live on the floor under yours. I do not appreciate you blasting music. Satisfied?"

Valon grinned. "I'm Valon. I like ridiculously attractive girls such as yourself, and you have bad taste in music."

Vivian looked amused. "Pleasure, Valon. I'll see you-"

"Go out with me?"

She stared. He would've smacked himself for sounding desperate if he wasn't positive that he wouldn't so conveniently find a girl as hot as Vivian. Granted, she had questionable tastes, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to instill some good heavy metal values into her.

"…that is a non sequitur if I ever saw one," she said finally.

Valon winked. "Sarcasm is not your forte. I'll pick you up at seven, neighbor."

She laughed, tossing inky hair over her shoulder. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. But maybe you should listen to real music before trying anything with me."

Valon frowned. "Real music?"

She shot him a sly smile. "Megadeth beats Metallica any day."

She waved goodbye, tactfully ignoring Valon's dumbfounded expression.

"S-seven!" he called. "It's a date!"

* * *

**review? :D**


	41. Forgive Me, For I Have Forgotten

**I am just on a roll this week... so this piece is supposed to start prior to the canon of the series. just to clear that up. **

**this chapter is specially dedicated to Elficiel, who requested this pairing; enjoy!**

* * *

_SHIPPING: ATEM X ISHIZU (AVISHIPPING)_

_TITLE: FORGIVE ME, FOR I HAVE FORGOTTEN _

_THEME/MUSIC: BALANCE/ I KEEP FORGETTIN' THAT I FORGOT ABOUT YOU- LYNN ANDERSON_

_TAGLINE: HE TRUSTS HER VOICE BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO TRUST._

_WORDS: 491_

* * *

They keep him up in the dead of night— the thoughts, the questions, the variables.

They crowd his mind and poison it slowly with their sickly sweet voices and saccharine taunts. They bite at his eyes and tear at his chest until he is blind with confusion and numb with doubt.

_Who are you? _they chirp. _Where are you from? Why are you here?_

(I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, but I did once-)

They keep him up for so long, night after night and hour after hour, that he no longer sleeps. Instead, he wanders the many dusty rooms of his mind-prison, searching for answers behind the locked doors and etched in the worn tile.

But there is nothing there to answer his heavy words and heavy tongue. He stays locked within the winding labyrinth, unbearably alone, and eventually forgets the sound of his own voice.

(Who? Where? Why?)

It is at this point, when he teeters on the brink of a warped madness, when she comes to him in glimpses and glances.

He begins to hear sounds that aren't really there. He sees things he knows are illusions. And he fears that he has finally broken, that he will rot away with his insanity for company.

He sees white cloth slipping around corners and corridors. The hem of a long skirt, the end of a sleeve. Sometimes he feels as though someone is watching him, and he turns to see brilliantly blue eyes fade into shadow.

He waits for the end that he knows will never come: his curse, his gaps in memory, is eternal and his body is no body at all.

"Patience," her disembodied voice murmurs soothingly in his ears. "Patience."

"Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you here?" he yells, and the echoes mock him with undertones of their own.

_Don't you know? Don't you know?_

He trusts her voice because there is nothing else to trust. He trusts her touch, ghosting over his face with invisible fingertips and lingering over his eyelids, for the same reason. He trusts her and his heart eases.

"Patience," she murmurs. "Patience. The time approaches."

He waits. He waits for endless years, endless revolutions of an hourglass, endless tickings of clocks. He waits and he trusts her voice.

And then he is found, freed. He is made whole, as whole as two chipped halves joined together. He travels. He fights. He is hurt. He is healed. And he eventually forgets. He forgets her voice, her touch, his trust. A semblance of balance is formed.

And then-

"My Pharaoh, I've been expecting you."

He turns away from the engraved rock to face her.

Her eyes are just as blue, her voice is just as soothing, and she is just as knowing. His eyes widen in recognition.

_My Pharaoh_, her voice hums in his mind. _You waited for me._

He remembers, and the balance is tipped.

* * *

**review please!**


	42. A Wooing He Will Go

**so I reallyreallyreally do not like this piece at all. I really wanted to write a scenario like this, but it ended up strangled and just... ugh. this pairing stumped me too. anyhow, I hope that some of you are entertained at the very least...**

* * *

_SHIPPING: ATEM X SERENITY (SHADOWSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: A-WOOING HE WILL GO _

_THEME/MUSIC: OFFICE/LIFETIME- PROPHET JONES_

_TAGLINE: YEAH, THIS DEFINITELY DEFIED EMPLOYEE PROTOCOL._

_WORDS: 883_

* * *

"Then, by four fifteen, you need to have that memo sent out regarding the meeting shift. You asked me last week to reserve the remainder of your time today for the Okada project, so that's done. Oh, and don't forget to pick up your gorgeous secretary at eight and take her out to dinner."

Atem paused in his distracted note taking, registering the last event on his daily itinerary, and tore his gaze from the computer monitor to raise an eyebrow at the speaker. His secretary smirked slyly, her catlike eyes gleaming.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Vivian, for your kind offer… again. But you know that-"

"I'll reschedule you for tomorrow," Vivian interrupted breezily, winking as she pulled the door closed.

As soon as the sharp click-clack of her heels had faded, a whirlwind of loose papers and an annoyed expression burst into the office. "Hey!" the man fairly yelled, blond hair spilling over his eyes. "If you're going to just refuse every booty call, you can at least point them toward-"

"Hello, Joey," Atem intoned, not looking away from the computer screen. "And for the millionth time, it was _not _a booty call. She wanted to go to dinner, that's all. I doubt she was serious."

"Why do you get all the luck?" Joey whined. "Well, if any of the hot new interns come onto you, you know who to call," He grinned. "It's orientation today, so there's bound to be one or two lost ones…"

"Mhm."

"Well, I'll see ya during lunch, man."

The door closed again and it was blissfully quiet. Atem sighed. His coworkers were always insisting that he "get out there" since his recent divorce, but Atem simply wasn't interested. He hadn't met anyone who'd made him feel how he used to— he hadn't really expected anyone to understand. Shaking his head, Atem busied himself looking for his project's dossier. He was busy searching the bookshelf behind his desk when he heard the door swing open yet again. The sound of heels stopped near his desk, but he didn't turn; Vivian would be bringing him coffee at this hour. But there was a light cough and the heels shuffled uncertainly in his peripheral vision. Bracing himself for another potential display of affection, Atem cleared his throat and swiveled his chair around.

His breath caught. "Uh. Is there… you… Erm. Who are you?"

The girl in question flushed, and he tried not to notice that her blush spread to her throat and the pale skin that peeped surreptitiously from her open collar.

"Um." Her hair, an autumn auburn color that hung to her waist, swayed slightly as she shifted her weight. Her lips parted and Atem was suddenly seized with the completely irrational desire to dunk his head in ice water. "I was told that… I thought orientation was-"

"You must be one of the interns," he found himself saying in a remarkably controlled voice. Joey certainly hadn't been lying when he said they were attractive…

The girl beamed gratefully. "That's right," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

She was exceptionally cute when she smiled, Atem noticed. He also noticed that her thin shirt, stretched tight over the chest, and short pencil skirt were maybe more than just cute- good god, since when had he started showing interest in such blatantly younger girls?

He cleared his throat hastily, seemingly his default response around women. "What's your name?"

The intern smiled shyly. "Serenity, sir. And you're Mr. Mutou, the floor manager?"

"Yes, that's right. You can call me Atem." Immediately, warning sirens sounded in his head. This probably defied employee protocol. And she was an _intern_ for god's sake. But he was just being polite… "I'll walk you to orientation, if you'd like," he said, suavely, before he could think. And maybe they could have a drink after work-

Yeah, this definitely defied employee protocol.

"Oh no, that's really alright. I'll manage."

"Well, let me know if you need anything else, anything at all, while you're here." Okay, so suave was teetering dangerously over to creepy. Luckily, Serenity didn't seem to notice. Atem cleared his throat. "I hope you enjoy your time here, Serenity."

"I will!" she said, pivoting and giving Atem an excellent view of her behind.

Vivian slipped inside just as Serenity exited, stopping to stare at the suddenly red-faced Atem.

"Is it a bit hot in here?" he asked almost desperately, tugging at his shirt collar.

She blinked, understanding dawning on her features. "No. But I can't say the same for that intern." She smirked at Atem's guilty expression. "She's Joey's little sister, did you know? He loves her to death. Very unwilling to give her up to someone unworthy, so… convince him otherwise."

She placed a full coffee mug on his desk and sashayed out of his office as he sputtered an excuse. The door swung closed.

It seemed that he and Joey had some talking to do during lunch.

* * *

**HE'S SO OOC, ISN'T HE? I could blame that on the AU, but... UGH. please review?**


	43. The Things I Cannot See, part I

**HI. **

**I hope you all enjoy this piece after my long break; I'll be updating some more now that I've gotten over my writer's block!**

* * *

_SHIPPING: KARIM X ISIS (REACHSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: THE THINGS I CANNOT SEE (PART I)_

_THEME/MUSIC: UNREADABLE/BLINDING- FLORENCE+THE MACHINE_

_TAGLINE: "YOU KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT I THINK."_

_WORDS: 1,440_

* * *

She can feel them watching her, the hundreds of eyes from every imaginable angle, but she does not yield to the nervousness coiling in the pit of her stomach. Instead she stares straight ahead, feeling small and simple in the midst of the Pharaoh's throne room. Five men directly before her watch in silence.

"It is a heavy burden, but you must not treat it as such," a man is saying.

_Shimon_, her mind supplies. _The Pharaoh's vizier._

Shimon, although short and wide in stature, speaks so that she has no doubt that everyone in the palace hall can hear. He stands still on the steps leading to the throne.

"The Pharaoh relies on the sacred guardians to advise him. It will be your highest duty to lend him your strength and pledge your eternal loyalty." His eyes meet hers and her back straightens. "Isis, the necklace chose you for your foresight and clarity of mind. Do you swear, here in the presence of the Pharaoh and his sacred guardians, to uphold your duty?"

She lowers her gaze from Shimon's, surveying the five men standing a few steps below him. She sees pride, kindness, wariness, and scrutiny reflected in four pairs of eyes, but in the last man's-

She lingers a moment longer, puzzled.

"Isis?"

She very nearly flushes with embarrassment, but maintains composure and averts her eyes. "Yes," she answers Shimon. "I swear."

The faintest flicker of a smile flits across the fifth man's dark features and he shifts slightly with a knowing tinkle of scales.

Then she cannot stem a light blush.

* * *

She's pleasantly surprised to discover that she has plenty of idle time. Other than a few ritual ceremonies in the day, she's free to wander about the grounds and explore. She does so as often as she can, slipping away from the others into the outside gardens, eager to escape the stifling confines of the palace walls and decorum.

She pauses in her walk and trails a hand just-so over the cold marble rim of a fountain. Her reflection is warped in the water, a skewed image of flowing hair and glinting gold. Uncertainly, she touches the necklace at her throat, feeling its unfamiliar weight.

The Millennium Necklace is almost unyielding; visions come and go with varying clarity and more often than not she is left grasping for an interpretation. It's only in the dead of night that she allows herself to wonder whether or not her initiation was a mistake. She fears that the others think the same, especially due to her increasing uneasiness each time she is summoned.

The others…

The other guardians already have a sense of camaraderie and understanding that she can't help but feel that she infringes on. She feels it in their banter and their group dynamic— she's the odd one out, the enigma. None of them can understand her and yet, in their own way, they want to reach out.

_They only need ask, _she thinks, tracing the necklace. _Seto, Mahad, Akunadin, Shada, and-_

There is a rustling in the foliage behind her and she whirls around.

"I apologize for startling you," a low voice says.

Her breath catches for a fraction of a second. He isn't holding them, but she swears she heard a tinkle of golden scales.

"Karim," she says cordially. She doesn't dare ask how long he's been watching her.

He nods, a curt response. Ebony hair brushes at his chin. "You have been summoned."

Her heart turns to lead, and she almost doesn't notice that his gaze lingers. With a start, she realizes that her head is uncovered. Reaching for her hood, she pulls it up quickly, guiltily. Slowly, almost cautiously, Karim turns away. His eyes seek something on the horizon.

"I will accompany you."

It's an offer that she'd rather decline, but something in his tone makes her hesitate.

"Thank you," she murmurs finally.

There is a brief silence. "You are… permitted to go beyond the palace walls," Karim says.

She studies his profile through lowered lashes. "I see."

* * *

_There is light, even and strong, and it stretches as far as she can see. Satisfied, she moves as though to leave, but something catches her eye. Darkness, a weak shadow, flashes briefly. It is nearly invisible, yet as she peers closer-_

"Isis?"

Her eyes open and she blinks, concentration broken. Disappointment seeps into her features, but she quickly fixes a smile on her face as she turns toward the familiar voice. "Mahad," she intones.

He pauses in her doorway, taking in her expression. "I did not mean to disturb you," he murmurs apologetically.

This time her smile is genuine and he relaxes visibly. It has been many moons since her initiation, and Mahad has proven both friendly and surprisingly perceptive towards her emotions.

"It is alright," she says, standing. "…have I been summoned?"

He glances away. "Actually, I wished to talk with you."

She nearly sighs in relief. "What is it?" she asks, beckoning him to her room's balcony.

He walks slowly, biding his time with his words. "…we, the guardians and I, have noticed that you seem preoccupied as of late." He pauses, gauging her reaction. She says nothing, fighting to keep her face neutral. "I have noticed, Isis," he says softly. "You can trust me."

The ring around his neck glints dully in the moonlight and suddenly her necklace is unbearably heavy-

"Is this right?" she breathes shakily, the words coming out in a rush. Mahad's eyes are narrowed in worry. "Am I supposed to be wielding the Millennium Necklace? I feel as though they are hidden from me, my 'foresight and clarity of mind.' I feel as though I don't belong here. I feel that the others-"

"Mahad." Just as quickly as they began, her words wither. She doesn't have to turn to know who it is standing in her doorway. Mahad's hands, somehow settled on her shoulders, fall away. "The Pharaoh wishes to speak with you," Karim continues.

She barely registers his quiet apology, and then Mahad is gone. When she summons the courage to glance over her shoulder, Karim is gone as well.

* * *

The room is dark despite the dawn hour, shrouded with heavy curtains. By now she is used to rising before the sun to complete the morning ritual. The sole source of light is in the very center of the room: dancing flames contained within a large ceremonial bowl. She watches the fire cast shadows onto the faces of Shimon and the other guardians, lowering her gaze when Seto happens to glance back. Shimon's chanting swells in volume, cueing one Millennium item after the other to release its energy. She watches Shada's ankh glow and shifts expectantly. His energy joins the circle of light above their heads.

"-and sight; sight that lends light to our past, present, and future," Shimon chants.

Shutting her eyes, she places her hands on either side of the necklace. She can feel her mind opening and its energy channeling through the Millennium item. Its power lies coiled within the necklace's golden eye, sleepily mingling with her energy. The fusion is slow, and the ensuing energy is almost viscous. Gently, she mentally prods it toward the glimmering ring. Sweat beads on her brow, but she pushes harder, finally feeling the power flow easily.

Her eyelids flutter open, focusing on the shadowed figure across from her. Any comfort from the completion of her task dissolves quickly at Karim's unreadable expression.

* * *

The Millennium Necklace is cold against her throat, chilling her to her very heart.

"What is it you want from me?" she asks, hearing her voice echo against the stone walls.

She knows that the question defies etiquette, as does her forwardness, but she is long past the point of caring. She doesn't know what it is that possessed her to find him in the late hours of night, let alone knock at his door and let herself into his chambers. She's sure he doesn't know either, but he still let her in and his face still betrays nothing.

"I know what it is that you think of me," she says. She is dimly aware that her voice is getting louder. "I have seen it! You find me inept, you doubt my ability, and you-!" She stops herself before she can say more, chest heaving and fists clenched.

Karim doesn't move, but his eyes are different; they're alight, alive. They burn through her with a feverish intensity and she realizes that she can't remember what it was she wanted to say.

Then he speaks, rippling the silence.

"You know nothing of what I think."

* * *

**this was exceptionally difficult to write. I decided to put this pairing in at the last minute, started off strong, then got stumped. then I picked a song and started to write. and write. and write. then I realized I had to stop because I'd breached 1,000 words and I wasn't done. this chapter was so hard for me because I had to build this couple up out of essentially nothing- all I really had to go on was Karim's death scene in the anime. saying so, I decided to break this story in half; there will be a new pairing for the second half and a conclusion. I hope you all bear with me!**

**review please, let me know what you think!**


	44. Umpteenth Time's the Charm

**ok, so I wasn't very sure how I wanted to approach this. research of series 0 didn't yield very much information, so I decided to take a slightly AU approach to this pairing. I hope you all enjoy how it turned out!**

* * *

_SHIPPING: KAIBA X MIHO (POMPSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: UMPTEENTH TIME'S THE CHARM_

_THEME/MUSIC: OFF-GUARD/ SAY GOODNIGHT AND GO- IMOGEN HEAP_

_TAGLINE: MIHO NOSAKA'S LIFE WAS COMPRISED OF SEVERAL LOVE STORIES STRUNG TOGETHER. _

_WORDS: 1.333_

* * *

Miho Nosaka's life was comprised of several love stories strung together.

The first time she fell in love, young and reckless, it was a passionate, smoldering affair. There were whispered confessions at night, hesitant kisses, and she promised her undying love.

It ended with a broken heart.

"Why doesn't he love me, Daddy?" she'd sobbed into her father's shirt.

His hands were gentle on her head. "Because he's a poster, darling. But I'm sure if the real Hideki Ryuga were here, he'd love you too."

So she moved on as well as any eight-year-old could.

The second time she fell in love, a bit older and still reckless, it was a dizzying, whirlwind fling. She'd been taken completely by surprise, fallen hard, and promised her undying love.

It ended awkwardly.

"Riku says he likes you," a girl in her middle school homeroom had said. "Do you like him back?"

Riku. That cute boy in her grade? The one with light hair and a smiling mouth? She said yes without thinking further, watching the girl's mouth widen with glee.

Riku turned out to be the overweight nerd who wet his pants when excited. She broke up with him thirteen seconds after they met.

The third time she fell in love, she was older and just as reckless, and- well, it was more of an infatuation, really. Plus, it ended badly (there were threats of a lawsuit) and she'd really rather not remember it.

The point is, there were many others in her life, so many that she eventually gave up counting them. None of those relationships actually succeeded, nor did she manage to move on without some new scratches on her heart each time. But she always knew that true love would find her. She'd be ready and waiting.

* * *

It happened and she was caught completely off-guard.

"Because you've been doing rather miserably in math, Miss Nosaka, I've decided that it'd be best for my previous student here to tutor you after school," her teacher is saying. "He is more than qualified to answer your questions."

Of course, she doesn't actually hear any of that. There's a buzzing in her ears. She's positive that her heart has never beat so fast, nor her mouth ever been so dry. This is new.

He's tall. Tall and thin with the most dazzlingly blue eyes she's ever seen. And his hair. A warm chocolate brown color that falls just-so over his eyes. He isn't smiling, but she's sure that if he did, she might just melt into a quivering pile of lovesick goo. Every cell, every hair, every fiber of her being throbs with one thought.

_He's got to be mine._

"Kaiba," the boy says shortly, as a means of introduction.

And his voice is liquid gold. It takes an extraordinary amount of willpower not to press a hand to her chest and flutter her eyes shut.

"I'm Miho," she's somehow managing to say. "I'll meet you in the library after school today, okay? Don't be late!" There's a giggle for good measure, and she tosses her ponytail over her shoulder as she pirouettes out the door, skirt flouncing.

She has no clue where any of that came from, but she thinks it was rather good for a first impression.

* * *

She'd really fall over and die if he wore glasses. Honest. The ensuing combination of bookish and boyish would be enough to set off an oxytocin overdose. Plus, when he does that thing where he pushes some hair away from his forehead, it musses really sexily and-

"Nosaka."

"Yes?" she murmurs dreamily.

"Do you have an answer for number six?"

Why would she have an answer for that when she can think of all the possible situations that would require him to take off his shirt?

"Mm, no."

She's already noticed that his eyes flash when his emotions change. They flash now, and his features darken. She blinks.

"Instead of daydreaming, focus on the problem set."

His voice is low and she shivers. He seems pleased with this reaction and ducks his head down to continue reading from an impossibly thick book.

She's sure if he uses that voice again she won't be able to stop herself from pouncing on him from across the table.

* * *

It turns out that he may not be aware of her advances, subtle as they are. She's decided to further biting on her pencil alluringly and crossing and uncrossing her legs to "accidentally" brushing against him. She's practicing her flirting eyes during their fourth session when he closes his book with a snap.

"Nosaka," he snaps. "You need to put actual effort into this, or you're wasting my time. Either pay attention, or these tutoring sessions are going to end."

"Oh, don't do that," she wheedles, putting on her best pout.

"You realize that there's nothing stopping me from leaving," he fairly snarls. "Stop this childishness and do your work."

"Or what?" she singsongs teasingly. "You'll _punish_ me?"

She takes a moment to congratulate herself on sneaking that double entendre in. It seems to have effectively silenced him, and she would've congratulated herself on that too had he not pushed back his chair and left suddenly.

Then she's a bit worried.

* * *

"Is Kaiba there?"

"Um, yeah. And you are…?"

"Miho. Could you call him over, please?"

"…Are you his g-?"

"What do you want?"

"Hey! You haven't cancelled on me because of yesterday, right?"

"Actually, I have."

"Look, I'll make it up to you. Promise!"

"I doubt that."

"Great! I'll be waiting in the library!"

* * *

Seriously. What with her constant efforts, she feels that he should've been groveling for her affections by now. Sure he's a bit… different from the rest. A little less friendly and little more antisocial, but he's ridiculously good looking and so is she. That is reason enough for them to date.

"Nosaka!"

But she'd be lying if she said that she didn't mind that he only talked about boring things.

"Oh, Seto. How many times have I told you to call me Miho?" she giggles.

He rubs at the bridge of his nose with long fingers. "Nosaka. You _will_ call me Kaiba and you _will _have the right answer to question three."

"14."

"3.226."

Dammit. "I think I'd be able to focus better if I had a break," she mumbles.

"Show me more effort, and then you get a break."

"Take me out to coffee."

"…What?"

Well it's worth a shot. "I promise to work harder if you take me out to coffee."

He's staring at her like she's a moron of the lowest order (one of his more endearing expressions).

"…If you get the next question right."

* * *

"Thanks for the coffee!" she grins winningly, pausing to sip at the steaming cup. He doesn't acknowledge her thanks, icily staring ahead. "It's cold, you know," she says, extending her arm. "Have a sip!"

"No."

He's so cute when he's stubborn. "Come on!"

"I said no."

"Then walk me home?"

"No."

"If I get mugged, or kidnapped, or die, my father-"

"Fine," he snaps. "Anything to shut you up."

He doesn't notice her trail him home immediately after he drops her off.

* * *

"Seto!" she shrieks, bursting into his classroom.

She scans the classroom then beams, waving enthusiastically at the figure sitting alone at his desk. The lunchtime crowd's gazes swivel toward him.

If she didn't know any better, she'd think that he looked almost embarrassed.

"What?" he hisses after pulling her into the hallway.

It only takes a couple moments for her to get over the fact that he's touched her. "I got an 80 on my test!" she chirps, waving the paper in his face.

He looks somewhat relieved. "Then tomorrow-"

"Oh, don't worry, I'll still meet you!" she interrupts with a wink. "Silly, Seto, you can't be around me forever. It's bad enough that we get along so well."

She misses his face briefly contort into something resembling a murderous expression.

Oh, love. And it's only the beginning.

* * *

**in series 0, Miho apparently develops a crush on Kaiba after finding out that he's incredibly wealthy. I decided not to touch on that here, but I hope you all liked it anyhow! please review!**


	45. And I Will Try to Fix You

**I know. it's been a while. it would've been sooner, honestly, if this hadn't taken me weeks to write. I must've rewritten this thing 10 different times with a million different formats and a million more scrapped storylines. I ended up with this because I literally threw my hands up in the air and gave up. I'd like to think that this isn't utter crap, but I won't lie and say that it's particularly good. still, I hope a few of you out there enjoy this.**

**the title is taken from the lovely Coldplay song, "Fix You," and the song for this chapter fits even better than I'd originally thought.**

* * *

_SHIPPING: VALON X SERENITY (CIRCUMSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: AND I WILL TRY TO FIX YOU_

_THEME/MUSIC: DANGEROUS/ SLICED BEATS- APARTMENT 26_

_TAGLINE: HIS LIPS PART AND HER EARS FILL WITH WHITE NOISE._

_WORDS: 1,255_

* * *

Her eraser is lying in a pool of shavings, perched atop the pages littering her desk. She leans in, careful not to upset the inkwell at her elbow, and scrutinizes the sketchbook. Carefully, she drags her pencil back and forth before lightly smudging the strokes with her fingers. Satisfied, she pushes her chair back so that the yellow lamplight softens the image. She stares at it for a long moment.

Then, delicately, she lifts the paper and tears it into pieces.

**/*\\**

"Hey," he calls, waving lazily as she approaches. "Hey."

Her steps slow and her breath catches.

"I'm talking to you, you know," he drawls, but her eyes are firmly on the ground and her arms are crushing her books to her chest.

She wants to look up, but something warns her not to. It's whispering to her about common sense and reputations when she belatedly realizes she's stopped.

"What's her deal?" someone is asking, low laughter scattering like a fistful of pebbles, and a feminine voice is saying to let her go, she's not so pretty anyway, just let her go, listen-

"It's rude to ignore people," his voice breathes in her ear, and her spine arches traitorously against his chest.

She looks, then.

She looks as he pulls away with an easy grin and sparking eyes. He calls to someone behind him and she distantly hears a response. The sound of motorcycle engines, strangely dimmed in her ears, hums to life.

Long after they're gone, when her apartment door is locked behind her and her heavy breathing is the only noise inside, she realizes how deeply her nails have bit into her palms.

* * *

(_but what if you were different…_?)

* * *

She sharpens the pencil again, the sound grating against the night air, and pauses over the paper's surface. Tentatively, she draws a curving line and studies it for a minute. The mark is retraced, darkened, and she studies it again.

She does this for each and every stroke of her pencil, monitoring the movements, but the portrait is still wrong (still _lifeless_) and she slowly shreds it.

**/*\\**

"He's here today," a boy is whispering. "I saw him on my way to school."

The dulled chatter spikes in volume around her, buzzing with questions and speculations. She doesn't turn toward them and their forked tongues, staring out the window instead. Her pen taps a broken rhythm against her notebook.

"Is the rumor true?" a girl asks.

Someone laughs. "Which one?"

"That his gang went to jail-"

"- that that senior Nosaka slept with him-"

"-he's slept with half the girls in the school-"

"-quite the feat for someone who never shows-"

"-that he beat up a teacher-"

"-I heard he killed someone."

She bites her lip, penciled mouths and watercolored gazes behind her lids, and waits for homeroom to begin.

* * *

(_what if I were closer…?_)

* * *

She doesn't draw for the first night in weeks, and her fingers ache with longing.

**/*\\**

She can hear the furious whispering ripple and spread through the currents of students. Their words ebb and flow and crash around her in waves so that her grip on her school bag tightens.

He's leaning against the school gate, waiting for someone. The bike behind him is dark against the milling school uniforms; dark like the looks tossed at him. He ignores them all, whistling teasingly after a group of blushing underclassmen, and nobody approaches him.

She doesn't blame them for their sudden hush when she walks deliberately past them, back straight and lips white. She can feel their stares burning through her clothing, but it is his that catches her gaze and holds it. She stops four steps away, fighting the urge to melt back into the crowd.

His lips part and her ears fill with white noise. "Have we-"

"Could you do me a favor?" she chokes out, her voice oddly high-pitched and her fingers fumbling.

His eyes flash; pale, powder-blue flames. She feels them slide (burn) over her, setting her autumn hair and slim waist aflame.

"Depends on the favor," he grins, and color rushes to her face.

* * *

(…_would you let me fix you?_)

* * *

"Are you sure?"

The teacher's voice is low in his office, heavily laden with surprise. She nods, her hands fisted into the material of her skirt.

"I can do it."

"The deadline is in two weeks…"

"I can do it," she repeats, lacing her tone with as much determination as she can muster.

He sighs, folding his arms. "…Alright then."

**/*\\**

She works quickly, finishing a hasty outline in record time. His shoulders are broadened and his jawline is stronger. She tweaks his hair into something more manageable and straightens his nose.

She draws his eyes exactly as they are.

She lets him look on the third day when he complains, toying with her hair and closing his fingers over her wrist so that she flushes. He studies the portrait in silence, dropping her hand and drinking in her adjustments, and she holds her breath eagerly.

"You know," she begins softly, "this could get finished faster if you came to school-"

He steps back as soon as the words are out of her mouth, grabbing his jacket and stalking outside.

When she timidly enters the art room the next day, he's waiting for her with a sly smirk and dim eyes.

And they continue.

* * *

(_let me fix you._)

* * *

"Why'd you ask me?"

His voice echoes in the empty art room and her hands still. When she dares to glance to the left of the easel, she notes that he's changed position again, slouching in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

"Please don't move," she murmurs.

He drops his head to his chest and asks her again, soft as ash. "Why'd you ask me?"

She stiffens and the silence between them stretches into mountains and valleys; her heart hammers in her ribs, punching at the words nested in her throat.

He's staring at her, his gaze wandering lower to her school shirt and lower still to her legs. She shifts slightly, nervously, but he doesn't look away.

"Shouldn't you be careful, asking things like this?" he drawls, pushing himself up from his seat. Her eyes follow him. "We're here, after school, alone." He draws nearer and she clenches the paintbrush in her hand. "Some pretty, little thing like you might give a dangerous guy like me the wrong idea."

He stops inches away, stretching his arms out on either side of her chair. His eyes smolder, bright as stars; so close and yet light-years away. She suddenly has the insane desire to brush the dark hair from his eyes; to tempt danger.

(to own that danger— to hold its reins in her fist)

"I'm not stupid," she says instead.

"…Are you sure?" he asks. His voice dips in volume. "You're a good girl… if you knew better, you'd stay inside, away from me. Because I'm-"

"Why did you say yes?"

He pauses and, never lowering his gaze, he moves his hand to rest on her knee. Her heartbeat pounds a staccato rhythm and her eyes widen.

"…Don't you know?"

Her blood roars in her ears.

"No," she lies.

He leans in closer still and her lungs collapse with lack of air when he pulls away, his words echoing in her ears.

"I'm not going to chase you and you're not going to change me."

And he leaves.

**/*\\**

Her painting wins the contest, all the alterations and modifications (improvements), and her prize feels as hollow as her heart.

* * *

**(note to self: make these shorter…)**

**all I have to say about this is that girls have to understand that they can't always change a guy to fit their ideal. of course, because I wrote this, both Valon and Serenity ended up being fairly one-dimensional (fail, fail, fail). cut me a bit of slack though, I think you can tell that I was utterly fed up with this by the end XD;;**

**we're drawing closer to the end of this bonanza! now is the time to ask for a pairing!**


	46. Until We Run Out of Tomorrows

**sorry for the delay everybody! now that I'm getting even closer to the end of this collection, all the harder couples I've been putting off have to be written v.v that tends to be why they're getting so long—it takes me longer to establish a scenario when there isn't much I have to go off of.**

**this piece was quite difficult for me, from start to finish, and it really shows. it's an AU that deals with some really sensitive subject matter, and I have tried my best to work with it without depressing everyone or giving the wrong impression. it's not perfect, but I hope my central meaning carries over.**

**oh, on a more lighthearted note, I highly recommend you listen to the song; it's one of my favorites, though it really only works for this couple if you give them a lot of time XD;;**

* * *

_SHIPPING: RAFAEL X MAI (FLAMESHIPPING)_

_TITLE: UNTIL WE RUN OUT OF TOMORROWS_

_THEME/MUSIC: STRANGER /ISLANDS - THE XX_

_TAGLINE: IT'S PISSING HIM OFF THAT HE'S FORGETTING WHY THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA WHEN IT SOUNDS SO SIMPLE AND STUPID COMING FROM HER LIPS_.

_WORDS: 2,072_

* * *

He watches his breath fog the air in front of him. It dances in wispy plumes like smoke. He does this again: inhale and exhale, over and over. It's gotten to the point that he is painfully aware that breathing is involuntary, and every corresponding movement is now awkward.

The body has a lot of involuntary processes and uncontrollable reactions. Breathing is one of them. So is thinking. And therefore, through some stretch of logic that he had long ago rationalized, so is living.

"That's not really fair," he murmurs into the quiet night. His voice is heavy, heavier than usual. As though the weight of his thoughts has slid back from his brain to fester in his throat.

"Why shouldn't I get to decide?"

It is cold and silent on the bridge as he wills himself to turn away from the water meandering underneath it.

Living is an involuntary thing, and so people are used to it. He supposes they have mundane routines, monotone friends, and mediocre jobs to occupy, to distract themselves with. To make themselves forget that there really isn't any choice in the matter, and continue on with their clockwork schedules.

_But it takes real bravery to challenge that_, he thinks, _and recognize this for what it really is._

He does this often: strip every day down, over and over. It's gotten to the point that he is painfully aware that _being_ is involuntary, and every corresponding action is now laborious.

There is no one to tell him otherwise. The days have become weeks and the weeks have become months that drag on like syrup. He is now used to the idea that the sun rises and sets regardless of what happens, that the end of one day is never the end of anything, and that everything is really only nothing with a twist.

He woke up that morning the same as any other: alone. He'd stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours and, in a flash of clarity, he realized that it all would end that way too: in solitary. The smart thing to do was not to wait for something that was going to come sooner or later, but to do something about it. Sooner or later. He'd stared at the ceiling some more, and decided.

"Sooner it is."

There is a small part of him that thinks that maybe he ought to have waited for a sign. That voice is folded in half, like paper, and in half again, again, again until it disappears. The water is black below, and he imagines himself throwing the tiny piece of paper into the depths.

Not a ripple, not a sound. Ended. He squares his shoulders and steps forward.

"Oh, I thought you'd chickened out. Took you long enough, that's for sure."

His body tenses immediately, like a coiled spring, and he forces himself to calmly half turn toward the person. The moment she hits his peripheral vision, he's appraising her warily.

She has a slanted silhouette in the moonlight, which bleaches her hair almost white. Her face is shadowed, but he manages to pick out the defined slopes and curves of her figure. He's wondering how she managed to sneak up on him so soundlessly when she gives a not-so-subtle cough. He glances back up and she crosses her arms. The bottle in her hand tinkles against a bracelet.

"Like what you see?" she asks drily. "Cut the creep act and just jump already."

She's slurring slightly and seemingly content with the distance between them. He takes a quick look around and, confirming that no one else is in sight, steps to the ledge of the bridge.

"Man of a few words, but takes orders," the woman says. "That's kind of attractive, to be honest, but nobody likes a guy who wants to off himself."

He doesn't answer, staring at the darkness beneath them. The ledge is freezing under his palms.

"Not that it's any of my business," she continues, "but do you have a reason? A good reason too, not some bull excuse like 'my girlfriend dumped me.' You gotta commit to these things, you know? You only get one chance."

This makes her giggle, a high and unexpected sound, as though she'd made a good joke. Her laughter is foreign in his ears, as if it belongs to another era.

"That's not really any of your business," he replies sharply. "I wouldn't expect you to understand-"

"Oh, none of that," she groans loudly. "The whole 'nobody understands me' thing is utterly lame."

And then, suddenly, her high heeled boots are click-clacking right next to him. He stiffens as her warm weight collides into him, close enough so that he can smell the alcohol on her breath. Her grip on his arm is strong, stronger than he expected, and he is surprised to realize that he's more confused than angry. She looks up at him, pushing away bright hair with her bottle and peering into his face with vividly violet eyes.

"There are plenty of fish in the sea," she says somberly. "You don't have to find them by literally jumping in."

Her nails are digging into his arm as she bumps unsteadily against his chest, pushing him away from the bridge. Her face dulls before his eyes and he feels time slow—the water under the bridge freezes, his heartbeat fades, and her gaze bores judgment into his skull. His chest is inexplicably tight, bottling his breath inside and bubbling apprehension.

_Maybe this is how it'll feel when you're dead._

He thinks that this might be his resolve weakening.

He curls his hands into fists and pushes back desperately against the invisible wall, willing time to flow again, for his logic to kick in. The woman's expression sharpens into focus in time for him to see it shift. She lets him go, drawing back before he can shove her away, and then he is angry for delays, for human emotion, for involuntary processes-

"It's not that simple or stupid," he snarls. "I've always been alone. I don't have anything to look forward to or to do." He gestures widely around them. "This is all pointless and I'm not going to wait for an end I can't change. It takes bravery to be able to-"

"Bravery?" the woman scoffs in an unexpectedly sober voice. "Sounds like cowardice to me. You don't even have anything to lose. Hell, I bet you woke up this morning, realized you're stuck in a crazy boring life, and then decided you had nothing better to do."

He stares, for lack of anything better to say.

"I'm a bit rude when I'm drunk, but your face tells me I actually got that right," she says, laughing again. "I mean, at least I have a real reason."

He is simultaneously flabbergasted and annoyed. "What, is this some sort of contest?" he snaps. She glowers at him and then her words hit him full force. "Wait…" he begins, "you're-"

"-here for the same reason you are," she finishes, narrowing her eyes. "Don't look so surprised. You're not the only unhappy person on this planet. Get over yourself." He scowls, preparing a retort, but she cuts him off before he can start. "I don't…" She pauses, studying him, then shrugs, taking a large swig of the bottle in her hand. "Screw it. Not like it'll matter if I tell you."

He can practically hear time ticking away. "Look, I don't-"

"I can't make people happy," she interrupts, in a tone that seems to imply that this is a secret. "The people that matter. You know, the ones who love you. I'm…" Her voice dips in volume. "I don't know, damaged or something. There's something holding me back in, like, everything I do. I can't even…" She laughs bitterly, indicating toward her bottle. "I can't even jump off this goddamned bridge without help. For some reason, people want me to believe that I'm worth it. But, worth what? I-"

"I don't care to hear about an idiot," he cuts in forcefully. "At least you have people in your life who care about you. You're being a selfish moron if you- you can't even try and get help from all those other morons who bother! You're a rude bitch who needs to stop her own pity parade."

It's the most, and loudest, he's spoken in a long time, but there isn't anyone else to realize this.

"I don't need to hear that from you," she's sneering, eyes sparking. "I'm not standing on this bridge with some half-assed idea of giving up on excitement when I don't even have anything to show for my efforts! You're the goddamned organizer of the pity parade! You're probably one of those weirdoes who overthinks everything and that somehow translated to suicide! Don't you get it? You're the only one who gets to decide how boring you are-"

"I don't need a stranger's opinion!" he barks and, much to his chagrin, she hisses a response in instant retaliation.

It's pissing him off that this woman's wild guesses are hitting truer than she knows or he cares to admit. It's pissing him off that it's cold and she is very much in the way. It's pissing him off that he's forgetting why this was such a good idea when it sounds so simple and stupid coming from her lips.

But most of all, it's pissing him off that she is here, at the same place and same time, for the same purpose, but for all the wrong, impractical reasons.

"Enough!" he roars, a semblance of satisfaction curling in his stomach at her indignant expression. "I'm going to jump off this bridge right now, and you _will _shut up-"

"Who's there?" someone calls in the distance. They both freeze, whirling around to see a faint light bobbing in the distance. "Hello?" the voice repeats, and he hears her curse.

"It's the police," she gasps, snatching at his arm and pulling him away. "Don't just stand there, you'll get us both caught-"

The rest of her chatter crackles into white noise, and he watches the bridge and policeman fade out of sight. His heavy footsteps beat in tandem with his heavier heart, synced with her sharp breathing. He isn't sure how long they run, only aware that time and opportunity has passed when she lets go of his hand under an unfamiliar streetlamp. He stares at her bowed head, bent over to catch her breath. A sentence is forming in his mind, half-finished, when she looks up with glazed eyes and he realizes, in the yellow light, that she's astonishingly beautiful.

She's staring at some faraway point in the sky. "So, what now?" she mumbles. He blinks, unsure of whom she's asking.

"I don't know," he says quietly, following her gaze upwards.

He can feel her studying him thoughtfully, her eyes hovering along the lines of his profile, but he keeps his eyes trained on the stars flickering above them. Eventually she lets out a breath.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, never today," she breathes, just loudly enough for him to hear.

He lets her whispered words sink in, turning them over in his mind. Never today. Always tomorrow.

Or until he would run out of tomorrows and have to face the end anyway. Whenever that would be. Sooner, maybe later.

Later, it would seem.

_And so I come back to the beginning. Or the middle. Whichever it is. _

"Want to grab some coffee?" he finds himself saying.

The words sour in his mouth almost instantly as she pivots toward him, a hip jutted defiantly outward. Her voice is sharp in his ears. "I already told you I'm not into you."

He feels an uncharacteristic urge to roll his eyes, but intones instead, "Trust me, the feeling is mutual."

She scowls, her pretty face pinching, and tosses golden hair over her shoulder. The fluid movement tells him that this is something she probably does often. He also notices that she's trying to hold his gaze, but he looks away. The glimpse of her guarded eyes betray her more casual stance.

"You have bad taste in women," she sniffs finally. "But we already know that your life needs some serious reevaluation."

She stalks past him, swaying with a feminine grace. He watches her stumble slightly before she looks back. "Are we going or not, stranger?" she calls.

* * *

**for this pairing in particular, I knew I wanted to use the premise of the Bollywood film "Anjaana Anjaani" (look it up on Wikipedia!). although the film wasn't great, I thought it had a lot of potential, and I could really picture Mai and Rafael in the general story. unfortunately, I kind of puttered out of good writing... all the same, ****let me know what you thought!**


	47. Let's Just Not Think

**two chapters in one day! say it isn't so! this pairing was requested by the lovely dandelion-heart and was, surprisingly, a ton of fun to write. I couldn't find an official name for this couple, so I made one up. I hope you all enjoy this one, I rather liked it myself!**

* * *

_SHIPPING: JOEY X VIVIAN (SIDEWAYSHIPPING)_

_TITLE: LET'S JUST NOT THINK_

_THEME/MUSIC: PERPETUAL/ SALTWATER ROOM- OWL CITY_

_TAGLINE: NOBODY WILL DENY THAT THEY SHOULDN'T WORK._

_WORDS: 1,009_

* * *

Vivian thinks that they're a lot like the gears of a machine: they fit together enough to get the job done, but there's some bumping and grinding along the way.

No, not like the dance moves. Okay, maybe kind of like the dance moves. But that's really only when Joey's drunk and she's feeling especially sexy.

Believe it or not, that's not all the time.

Nobody will deny that they shouldn't work. Joey and Vivian. Vivian and Joey.

("We sound like a bad sitcom," she told him once, and he'd laughed that low laugh of his, the one that draws out until it fades away.

"Maybe we are a bad sitcom. I eat a lot and you can snark in time to laugh tracks."

She'd shrugged, playing with stray strands of his hair. "I'd watch it.")

They've been discussed many times and in many ways by many people whose opinions mean nothing to her.

"It's the kind of thing that defies gravity and common sense," Tristan had said and, as usual, nobody really listened.

Serenity simply avoided her, unless Vivian was feeling kinda unavoidable, and even then she'd only received tight-lipped smiles that didn't reach Serenity's eyes.

"If that's what makes Joey happy, I don't think we ought to interfere," Yugi had said, which effectively ended all other arguments.

Except Téa's. She definitely had a thing or three to say, some of which are simply not polite to print. "I thought you were Mai's friend," was how her tirade ended, in a voice that was a good blend of parental disapproval and unwanted disappointment.

Vivian had smothered the ensuing annoyance (and maybe a smidgen of guilt), opting instead for a clipped tone and narrowed eyes. "Mai Valentine didn't take what was waiting for her. All she did was sit around and feel sorry for herself. Not flattering for any body type and definitely not smart."

"He's not one of your silly accessories," Téa had spat.

She'd arched a shapely eyebrow. "He's not Mai's, either."

Granted, Mai had actually done more than just sit around and sigh. She'd talked about Joey often enough that he sounded like he had hair wrought from gold and abs made of steel. "He's stupidly beautiful," she'd murmured with a faraway look that never really left her eyes.

(And it was pretty much true. The first time she and Joey had sex was awkward and stilted up until she'd pushed him under her and fixed an unamused stare at his bewildered expression.

"If you want this to work, you're gonna have to get into it," she'd said. "I'm not doing this to just admire your blond hair and killer abs while you still have clothes on."

That had made him grin, a lopsided, rueful little thing. "And what is this?" he'd asked her softly.

His eyes were warm and so was his skin as she leaned in and pushed her mouth to his.

"Whatever we want it to be.")

When they came home after that international Duel Monsters tournament, she'd gone to bed exhausted and indecisive about what she was going to do. She woke up the next morning and knew that she wanted to see if Joey Wheeler really was as good as she'd heard.

She'd put her hair in a low ponytail draped over her shoulder. Her makeup was light, but bold. She'd worn her favorite pair of wedges and denim skirt, and rang his doorbell feeling confident.

It was kind of like a job interview, only she knew that failure wasn't an option.

(When someone dangles something in front of you, something too good to be true, you take it.)

He'd answered too slowly for her liking, his hair rumpled and his voice roughened with sleep. He looked defeated, if anything. Not like the glowing picture Mai had painted.

Or maybe this was the picture Mai had actually painted. The one colored over with goodbyes and unresolved tension.

"Vivian?" Joey had grunted.

"Hey. You want to let me in?"

He frowned slightly and hesitated. "I don't-"

"Thanks," she'd beamed, and slipped in.

(She's rather good at it, too. She's like a fish when she wants to be: seemingly innocent and flashy, but slippery and persistent as hell.

"He's a good kid," Mai had said, on some night in China when they'd both had a little too much to drink and Vivian had goaded Mai exactly as far as she wanted. "Good to a fault. He does dumb, brash things and grows up at the most unexpected times. He laughs too much and isn't as serious as he ought to be. But when he is…"

"Why'd you leave him behind?" she had wanted to know.

Mai shrugged and laughed. "Maybe because I can't face him. I'm not the person he thinks I am.")

"You are exactly who you appear to be," he tells her, lazily tracing the curve of her bare hip.

It's probably well into the afternoon, judging from the sunny light spilling through his curtains. Somehow, they've fallen into a comfortable routine, one that Vivian doesn't particularly mind (and in the rare moments she does, she wonders what it is that they're doing and if the time she's willing to invest is enough). She turns in his arms, mussing the bedsheets. He smiles sleepily at her.

"And who is that?"

"A sly vixen. Pretty, damn annoying, stuck to me like we're in perpetual motion."

"And you're an idiot."

His features slacken and his eyes shut. "So they tell me."

("Yeah, it's true," she tells Mai over the phone, in a voice that isn't hers. "Looks like you missed your chance."

It's quiet long enough that she wonders if Mai maybe hung up, but she hears a shaky intake of breath. Her fingers curl around the cord.

"Looks like I did.")

"Joey." She nudges at his nose with hers.

"Hm?"

She kisses him slowly, letting his taste linger on her tongue, and asks him in a whisper.

"Do you wish we'd fall in love?"

He doesn't open his eyes. "All the time."

* * *

**in the Japanese version of the anime, it is shown in the epilogue that Vivian and Mai apparently teamed up as partners for an international Duel Monsters tournament. this whole situation was a far-fetched speculation of events, but I had a good time writing it.**

**drop me a review?**


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